Hope and Healing
by Otakon1Snake
Summary: Harry has a long and difficult path to overcoming not only Lord Voldemort, but also his trauma from his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys. AU with the story starting at 4th year. Harry/Fleur later on. This story deals seriously with abuse, which can be difficult for some readers. It has been rated accordingly.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome to my story. It's been a long time since I've posted anything, but I recently caught the writing bug, and hope to bring you an interesting story. I want to warn you though, that this story deals very seriously with abuse, and I know that can be difficult for some readers. Without giving too much away, it won't be the focus of the whole story though, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel.**

 **A few other notes before we get started. Harry's treatment will have affected the way her grew up, and the way his personality developed. He will be different than in canon, and as such, events will have unfolded differently. We are beginning at his 4th year, but I will do my best to make it clear how events have happened differently. It'll be a slow burn to the romance portion, and for that, I apologize. I don't like it either.**

 **Constructive criticism is very welcomed, as I am well and truly rust at this.**

 **Way back in the day I think every story needed a disclaimer, so I'll throw one on here now too. I don't own Harry Potter or any of that biz.**

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

It had been a long and terrible summer for Harry Potter. It wasn't that long terrible summers were uncommon for him, but this one felt especially long, and especially terrible. He lay in his dark room, his lumpy aged mattress only slightly more forgiving than the plain hardwood floor it sat upon. The only two things breaking up the nightly darkness were the pale moonlight streaking through the window, and the small red numbers of his alarm clock. The Dursley's removed the light bulb from the single lamp on the ceiling, since Harry only spent time in his room to sleep. The rest of the time he was being worked to the bone. Despite the rock-hard lumps of the bed, and the ancient, unwashed sheets, he felt as though he were laying on clouds. Another difficult day with the Dursleys had left him exhausted, as most days with them did, and he was finding this summer harder to stomach than the previous ones, especially after the end of his previous term at Hogwarts.

His hand reached up to his chest absentmindedly as if to massage his constricting heart as he recalled the grizzled, wild smile of his Godfather, Sirius Black. The words of his only friendly relative, even if not by blood, had given him hope that he could finally be free of the Dursleys, that he could live with someone who _cared_ about him. His dream of freedom was snuffed out shortly after it was born, carried off by Peter Pettigrew as he scampered away, escaping justice yet again, forcing Sirius reluctantly back into hiding.

Harry had tried to keep the crushing sadness and disappointment he felt away from his face as he and his friends disembarked the Hogwarts Express at the end of term. He must've succeeded, since the usually observant Hermione hadn't said a single thing to him about it. He was conflicted about being so proficient at hiding his thoughts and internal struggles, but in the end, he settled on being pleased with himself. It was a survival skill after all. Although the Dursleys were muggles, and would abhor the thought of any of them performing a simple card trick, let alone actual magic, but he would swear that they had a near magical ability to discover something that upset him, and weaponize it. Besides, he needed to keep the fact that Sirius was his Godfather far from his relatives. He shuddered involuntarily, despite the summer heat, at the recollection of his previous summer, thanks to Sirius being on the muggle news.

He was accustomed to non-stop chores and cleaning during his time at Privet Drive, as he'd been doing exactly that for his entire life. If he was lucky, he was left alone to his work. If he was not so lucky, he garnered the attention of his cousin, or worse, his uncle. The two of them seemed to delight in reminding him that he was unwelcome and worthless. Often choosing to do so violently. But most days weren't quite that bad, and he was left a list of chores by his Aunt, and the Dursleys avoided interacting with their walking, cleaning, source of shame.

His 'normal' days were interrupted when Sirius had appeared on the news one night. A combination of a difficult day at Grunnings, and the news of a wanted criminal, had sufficed to work his Uncle Vernon into a rage about 'ungrateful good-for-nothings', and 'blights on society'. His uncle seemed to gain inspiration from the idea of a prison, and began a regimen that morphed Harry's life from dismal, to a living hell, overnight.

His uncle worked out a meticulously detailed schedule, broken down into half-hour blocks, with five minute breaks at noon at six to eat and use the privy. The schedule wouldn't have been quite as bad, if it hadn't come along with two 'nightsticks' his uncle had fashioned from branches as thick as Harry's wrist. Dudley and his uncle would 'discipline' him if he lagged behind the impossible schedule, took too long in the privy, or if they were feeling a little bored.

Eventually the grueling schedule, and the minimal sleep he was allowed, caused him to fall too far behind. A full morning of 'discipline' finally dropped him beneath their blows. His memory was fuzzy after a particularly vicious blow to the side of his head, but he knew they had relented before breaking any bones this time. They avoided taking Harry to the hospital if at all possible. If he went to the hospital, then 'uncomfortable questions were asked, which Harry had to deflect with practiced ease. He'd learned early that he was not to tell the doctors the truth. He'd paid dearly when he'd revealed that Dudley had broken his arm when he was six. It had been made crystal clear what he should, and shouldn't, say to hospital staff.

Harry was given a full week to rest and recover after his 'prison' routine, a week that he enjoyed immensely, despite the constant aches and pains. His bruises gradually faded, and he quit waking up in the middle of the night from the pain of rolling over in his sleep. He was finally allowed to return to his chores, which had piled up considerably during his recovery. Despite the respite, he'd have given anything to have some of Madam Pomfrey's familiar potions, foul as they were.

He was snapped out of the dismal memories by what sounded like a soft rock hitting the window. Repeatedly. He shot out of bed like lightning, adrenaline burning through him. He pushed open the old, creaky window as quickly and quietly as he could. Before he could get it more than halfway up, a brown blur shot past him, hooting as it did so. Harry's sense of self-preservation, and trained seeker skills took over, and even without his glasses, he snatched the blur from the air before it could make any more noise, and wake the Dursleys. He kept his hand clamped over the small bird as he froze, listening for any whisper of movement from the old house. A creak from the walls as a gust of wind blew on his sheer curtains set his heart pounding in his chest, but his Uncle's monstrous snores never wavered.

Snatching his glasses from the floor by his mattress, he was finally able to examine the quivering brown mass in his hands. The tiny owl squirmed in his grip, trying in vain to peck Harry's fingers. Upon further examination, Harry found a letter attached to the owls leg, making the owl look comically small by comparison. Instead of laughing though, Harry felt his throat constrict, and his heartbeat triple. He tried to calm his breathing, which was coming in short, panicked bursts. He had told his friends that he couldn't receive mail over the summer, and to only owl him in a dire emergency. Possibilities ran through his mind, but at the top of the grim list, sat Sirius. What if his godfather had already been recaptured, before they'd even had a chance to look for Peter? Trying unsuccessfully to calm his nerves and steady his shaking hands, he pulled the letter from the owl's leg, and held it up to the moonlight to read. He recognized Ron's untidy script at once, and felt a little of his anxiety dissipate as he read.

 _Harry,_

 _I'll keep it short, since Pig can't carry any normal sized letters. Dad got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! It starts in two weeks, and we have a ticket for you and Hermione. Mom said he'd send a muggle letter to your Aunt and Uncle to see if you can come. If you can, we'll be there Sunday to get you, so we can leave on Monday. If you can't come, we'll be there on Sunday anyway. Send your answer back with Pig. Mom reckoned that it'd be polite to ask your family if you could come, even though we're coming to get you anyway. Hermione is already here. She says to tell you hi, and to ask if you've been keeping up with your required summer reading. Don't worry about answering any of that rubbish though, just send your answer about the world cup as soon as you can._

 _See you soon_

 _Ron_

Harry re-read the letter with minor disbelief, making sure he hadn't missed any important information about Sirius in the short letter. He sighed as he finished, looking down at the small owl still clutched in his left hand.

"Pig huh" he whispered, leaning his back against the wall as the adrenaline high began to subside. "Trust Ron to think quidditch is an emergency."

Harry often dreamt of Quidditch during his summers away from Hogwarts. The freedom of flight was addicting, and he missed it dearly when with his relatives. As much as he loved Quidditch, it certainly wasn't an emergency. He frowned in concentration, working through imaginary conversations he might be able to have with Ron about the meaning of the word "emergency" without letting anything about the Dursleys slip out.

He'd mentioned to Ron and Hermione that his relatives disliked magic, though he left out how vehemently, and violently the expressed their dislike. He'd spent the first eleven years of his life without a single friend, and was pretty sure he wouldn't survive it if they stopped being his friends because they knew his secret. Who would want to be friends with someone as worthless as he was? Just thinking about telling his friends finding out ran cold fear up his spine like he'd been dipped into an ice bath.

At the end of their first year together. Ron had invited Harry over to the Weasley's for a few weeks of the summer holidays. However, Harry knew better than to ask the Durselys for anything. While they would enjoy extra time away from their disappointment of a nephew, they also knew that going to the Weasley's house would bring Harry great joy, and that was unacceptable. He had to warn Ron and the Twins off finding a way to come visit, as he knew that'd just make his time worse once they'd left. That first summer back had been the worst he'd ever been forced to endure. Not necessarily because his relatives were any more horrible than usual, but because he knew what it was to have friends, to learn magic at Hogwarts, and to have a home.

His only company that summer had been the tiny house elf Dobby, who had tried to convince him to stay away from Hogwarts. The elf had alluded to some mortal danger that was being planned for the school, though he had tried to smash his head on things with just about every other word. Having had some experience with being made to punish himself, Harry had been able to calm the elf down, though the sight had made Harry's heart race, and adrenaline course through him. He had told Dobby, surprisingly frankly, that he would rather be wounded at Hogwarts, than leave the school to be safe. The elf had threatened to interrupt the Dursley's business party that was taking place down stairs to get him expelled. Before he could think about it, Harry had bent down do grab the small house-elf, and was pleading, on his knees, to leave the Dursleys alone. It took a lot of convincing, but in the end Dobby had relented.

"Harry Potter and Dobby have much in common," Dobby had said sadly, his big bulging eyes full of tears. "Dobby knows what it is like to wish for freedom. Be safe Harry Potter." The house-elf vanished without a whisper after that, and Harry hadn't seen him since.

Harry shook his head, trying to refocus. He looked back down at the letter, and wondered what life at the Weasley's was like. Ron and the twins tended to complain about Mrs. Weasley's overbearing manner, though it was typically while talking about being overfed, or given their colored christmas sweaters. Harry had been mortified when he received his first sweater for Mrs. Weasley, as he had promptly burst into tears in the middle of the first year dorms. It had been overwhelming to receive a christmas gift for the first time at eleven, and he just couldn't help it. Ron had mumbled about sending his mother a letter about Harry likely not receiving any gifts, and Harry's jumble of emotions at receiving the sweater had shifted to shame. It had been a slightly awkward morning after that, though Harry had immensely enjoyed the chocolate that Ron had given him. Harry didn't wear the sweater, as looking at it still gave him conflicted feelings about a gift given out of pity, but he kept all the ones he was given in his school trunk.

He shook his head slowly. There was no way the Dursley's would grant permission for him to leave, and sneaking away would result in his worst summer yet come next year. However, the Quidditch World Cup did sound exciting, and the thought of leaving the Dursley's to spend time at the Weasley's was certainly tempting. He decided he was glad Ron had sent the note. It gave him the opportunity to intercept Mrs. Weasley's letter to the Dursleys. He glanced down at Pig, who had settled down considerably, likely exhausting itself in its struggle to get free. He slowly opened his hand on the bed next to him, letting Pig walk around.

"Sorry I don't have any food or water for you," he whispered to the tiny bird, who seemed to be looking around for just that. "I'm not allowed to keep my owl here." He didn't want to think about what his Uncle would do if he brought Hedwig home with him. His familiar had to spend the summer flying free, rather than with him, but Hedwig always found him again at the beginning of every school year.

He grabbed the pencil he had stashed under the loose floorboard under his bed, just in case he had been able to sneak some of his school books out from where they were locked up. He sat on the floor under his window, using the moonlight to see by to write his letter. He missed the lavish rooms at Hogwarts, with their four poster beds and canopies. His spartan room at Privet Drive had only his bed in it, a closet for all Dudley's old clothes that he was allowed to wear, and a small clock to wake him up. He scrawled his response on the back of Ron's letter.

 _Ron,_

 _I'd really love to go to the World Cup, but I'm not sure how you'd come and get me. You would need to arrive after 9 o'clock Sunday night, so we don't disturb my Aunt and Uncle._

 _They have a big business thing early the next morning, and can't be disturbed. I'll need a hand getting my things from where they're kept if you find a way here. They're locked up to keep them safe, so someone will have to help me get them. My room is on the second floor, first window closest to the front door._

 _Hope to see you soon,_

 _Harry_

"At least he remembered to send the letter at night," Harry mumbled to Pig, as he tied the small letter back to the owl's leg. He tried to quash the guilt he felt at the minor lies he had to put in his letter. "Please take this quickly back to Ron," he urged the small owl as he carried it back over to the window. The owl twittered quietly, looking around one last time for something to eat or drink.

"Sorry," Harry said again, holding Pig out the window, and watched it fly, with difficulty, into the night.

Harry let out a sigh of relief that the excitable bird was out of sight, and settled back into bed. He placed his glasses on the floor, hoping to dream of flying on his Firebolt in the World Cup.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry awoke with a strangled cry. He automatically clamped his hands over his mouth to keep too much sound from getting out as he groaned. His forehead pounded, feeling like a splitting boulder. His scar throbbed painfully in time with his racing heart. As he sat there, he tried to recall the horrible dream he had been having. As he tried to remember, he felt the images slipping from his mind in the way only important dreams can. He glanced over at the small clock next to his bed. It was the only furnishing in his room besides his bed, and served to make sure he woke in time to begin breakfast for the Dursleys. The small glowing red numbers told him he still had a little over an hour left to sleep, and knew he should make the most of it, as he would have to be extra vigilant on his lookout for Mrs. Weasley's letter. He flopped back down, with his left hand rubbing at his scar. The pain was subsiding quickly, fading with the memory of the dream, and he quickly dropped back into deep sleep.

He awoke just before he was meant to begin breakfast, cursing himself for having missed his quiet alarm, and hurried downstairs as quietly as he could, trying to make sure his relatives didn't know he was running behind. He pulled out the necessary cookware for the morning meal, and cranked the knobs on the stove with well-practiced ease. He pulled the eggs and sausage from the refrigerator, and set the table while the food sizzled away. Moving on autopilot he spent his time cooking trying to figure out how he was going to get Mrs. Weasley's letter before either his Aunt or Uncle saw it. Harry didn't usually get the mail, and any deviation from the norm would likely arouse unwanted attention. He knew better than to draw any extra attention to himself. He thought hard, and opted for a simple solution. It would be easy to stay by the mail slot in the front door if he were doing the interior chores. There were plenty that he needed to do, and a few of them would have him by the front door.

As soon as the food was ready, he plated each meal, just as the Dursleys began trudging down the stairs. Dudley came last, lumbering down slowly while rubbing sleep from his eyes. Each time Harry was away at Hogwarts, Dudley seemed to grow exponentially. He'd started out massively overweight, like his father, but in time, had seemed to grow more and more into his body, and now the weight was more evenly distributed across his massive frame, making his already large stature even more threatening.

Harry tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while the Dursleys sat down to their sizable breakfast. He inhaled the mediocre breakfast he was allowed, and moved swiftly to the hall closet where his cleaning supplies were kept. He made sure to work out-of-sight of his eating relatives in an attempt to avoid being assigned other tasks. He started sweeping the floor near the front of the house, moving furniture from one side to the other as he went, only stopping to clear the table once a grunt by his uncle had signalled they were finished. He felt a pang of longing for Hogwarts where the plates vanished themselves, and food just appeared on the tables.

Soon after finishing the dishes, he began working slowly towards the front door. He knew the mail would be arriving soon, and said a quiet thanks to the mailman for his obsessive punctuality. As he rounded the corner to the front hall, he heard the faint click of the mail-slot as it opened. He saw the usual deluge of magazines fall through first, followed by a few letters to top off the small pile.

 _Jackpot_

Lying partially buried under another piece of mail was a normal sized letter, covered from corner to corner with stamps. He quickly grabbed the letter, and slid it easily into the back pocket of his pants. The pants, like all other clothes he owned, used to belong to Dudley. The large back pocket could likely have held a phonebook with room to spare, and the letter slipped in completely and was hidden. He gathered the rest of the mail, and placed on the table, swerving to avoid his Uncle, who had finished dressing for work. He was awarded a grunt in response, which surprised Harry. His Uncle must be in a good mood if he was only grunting. Usually he'd be berating Harry for something by this point. Harry could barely believe his good fortune. He quickly resumed cleaning, being sure to stay out of the way unless needed.

Harry hoped the last few days before the World Cup would be just as good, and he'd be able to keep his head down and free of injuries before the Weasleys arrived. He tried to stay focused, and keep his excitement from showing while he was working throughout the day. He didn't want his Aunt to pick up on any excitement, and inadvertently ruin his plans. She wasn't nearly as physically violent as Uncle Vernon was, but she had no qualms about working him to collapse, then complaining to her husband when he returned home about how he'd slacked off all day.

He was eventually allowed to stop for his meagre lunch not long after midday. He was used to the smaller portions he was allowed, but this summer had been more difficult to keep his energy up with what he was given. He noticed that he had been growing a little taller, his already slightly too-thin frame appearing to stretch a bit further. He'd felt silly examining himself in the bathroom mirror, but he'd been surprised that he hadn't noticed his small growth spurt. He knew he'd never be as tall as Ron, but wasn't too worried about it. His light weight made him extra quick on his broom for quidditch. He wondered if he'd grown taller than Hermione, who had gotten taller than him in just their second year. He had taken to sneaking down to the kitchen at night to eat a little extra food, so he wouldn't be quite so hungry the next day. He just had to make sure he went down after Dudley had finished sneaking snacks up to his room.

That evening, after grabbing his quick snack, he pulled out Mrs. Weasley's letter. Giving quickly in to his curiosity and boredom, he opened the letter, and read by the moonlight.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,_

 _We haven't been properly introduced yet, but I'm sure you've heard from Harry about my son Ron. As I'm sure Harry has mentioned, the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband Arthur has managed to get top-box tickets. We would love to take Harry to the match with us, as it's been years since Britain hosted the cup._

 _We would be happy to have Harry stay with us for the rest of the summer, and take him to the Hogwarts Express with us._

 _Please have Harry send a letter by owl, as I'm not sure we can receive mail the Muggle way._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Molly Weasley_

Harry smiled fondly down at the letter in his hands, not sure he could wait until Sunday when the Weasleys would come get him. He glanced reflexively out the window, hoping that the strange, small owl had made its delivery. He slid the letter into the hiding space under his bed, breathing a long sigh of relief. He was overjoyed that he had been able to intercept the letter. If Uncle Vernon had survived the fit he would have at the mention of Quidditch, the Hogwarts Express, and owls, it would have been very bad news for Harry. They were especially intolerant of anything to do with the wizarding world, and Harry learned very quickly to avoid anything that even sounded like it was magical. He suspected the only reason that he was even allowed to go to Hogwarts, was because of the Dursley's prevailing fear of Hagrid, from just before his first year. Harry snickered at the memory of Dudley's tail that Hagrid had given him, though Harry had paid dearly for the 'insanity' that he'd brought into their lives, but it was worth it for Hogwarts.

He lie awake for a little longer, planning out what chores he was going to be doing the next day. He knew he would have to be in top form if he wanted to avoid any discipline from his Aunt or Uncle. They usually laid off a bit before the beginning of term, so that their precious 'image' would be protected. He didn't want to have to tell the Weasleys that his cousin roughed him up a little so they wouldn't ask any difficult questions. He didn't like lying to the people who had been so nice to him.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

The next few days went by as slowly as they possibly could. Harry tried his best to forget about the World Cup, but try as he might, he couldn't completely quell his excitement. After 3 grueling days of tedious work, it was finally Sunday evening. He put on his best fitting pair of clothes, something Dudley hadn't been able to wear for many years, and sat down to wait. Nine o'clock came and went, and his heart began to sink with his spirits. He wasn't sure if he could bear another few weeks with the Dursleys after freedom had been so close. Especially not after the disappointment of not being able to live with Sirius. Just as he was about to take off his clothes and lay down, there were two soft cracks, and suddenly Mr. Weasley and Fred, or George, Harry wasn't sure, were standing in his room looking around, slightly bewildered. Mr. Weasley caught sight of Harry, staring open-mouthed at them, and smiled kindly at him.

"We got your letter Harry," he said, glancing quickly around the room, eyes lingering briefly on the bed and clock, a small frown taking the place of his friendly smile. Harry felt his face grow hot with shame and was glad for the darkness. "I brought Fred with me to help you with your trunk."

"My Aunt and Uncle are sleeping, so we'll have to be quiet," Harry said, his voice cracking slightly from disuse. He was happy that Dudley snored so loudly from the next room over, it helped mask the noise their appearance had made.

"George and I drew straws to see who would come help Dad." said Fred. "Where are your things? Ron said you'd need help getting them out." Harry showed Fred downstairs to the cupboard under the stairs where they kept his things, being sure to point out the squeaky stairs. Harry began to look around in the dark kitchen for the key that unlocked his old cupboard. He didn't get far, before he heard a small click from behind him. He turned back to Fred, and saw the older boy leaning down to open the cupboard with a triumphant smile on his face. "It's a good thing I came along," he said as he gently helped lift Harry's trunk from it's resting place, "I'm better at muggle lock-picking than George."

They quietly made their way back to a waiting Mr Weasley, and set the trunk, along with Hedwig's empty cage, gently on the floor.

"I must admit Harry," Mr. Weasley said after a moment, his frown growing deeper, "I don't like the idea of secreting you away in the night from your home. We had planned to come by Floo, to finally be able to meet your Aunt and Uncle."

"They have an electric fireplace inside their regular one, sir," Harry said, hoping the mention of an electric fire would distract Mr. Weasley, "I don't expect you'd be able to make it out of the fireplace if you came that way." He glanced up quickly to Mr. Weasley's face to see if it had worked. He saw the older man's face light up with interest.

"An electric fire?" he wondered aloud. "Is the fire itself electric? No, that couldn't be right...but how does the electricity actually start a fire?"

Fred laughed quietly at his father's interest, before motioning to Harry's things. "Let's go Dad. I'm sure Mum is beside herself waiting for Harry to arrive."

Mr. Weasley nodded, abandoning his musings. "Hold onto my shoulders," he said, placing a hand on the trunk, "I'll apparate us back to the Burrow."

.

Harry felt a very bizarre twisting sensation, and was suddenly blinded by the bright lights of a strange house in front of him. He smiled as he took in his first sight of the Burrow, and let out a large sigh of relief. He was free.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **Chapter 2 is up just a week later! And it's almost twice as long as chapter 1. How long will each chapter be on average? I'm not sure. I expect it'll be at least c what this is, maybe a little longer if I don't have a good stopping point. I think I'd rather go long than short.**

 **Additionally, I would expect some people may be wondering about my update schedule, and if it will continue to be this regular. In short...no. Sorry. This is out so q when I posted chapter 1, and I spent my writing time this week doing re-writes to it, as well as a handful of changes to chapter 1. Nothing major, just nitpicks I noticed. I'm sorry I won't be able to produce chapters on a reliable schedule, but a lot of my free time goes to other pursuits.**

 **Please feel free to let me know what you think so far. I'm especially concerned with the characters, and making sure they are consistent. I'm also a little concerned book at this point, and I don't want it to be boring. We do start seeing some more variation in chapter 3, so at least it won't last too long. I don't own HP or any of that biz. I hope you enjoy chapter 2.**

XxXxXxXxXxX

Harry was greeted at the door of the Burrow by Mrs. Weasley by way of a tremendous bear hug. He tried his best not to stiffen up or pull away. He knew she was just happy to see him, but her penchant for hugs had always made him a little uncomfortable.

"So glad to see you Harry dear," she said as she released him, giving him a quick once over. "We've just finished dinner, but you're welcome to the leftovers if you're still hungry after your dinner at home."

"That'd be nice," Harry said quietly, trying not to let his desire show in his voice. Mrs. Weasley's meals, in his opinion, were second only to the feast days at Hogwarts. He flushed when his traitorous stomach let out a loud grumble.

Mr. Weasley laughed, and clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry jumped a little in surprise, but managed not to say anything. "Growing boys can never get enough food Molly," he said with a smile down at Harry. "Let's head inside, Ron has probably already started in on those leftovers."

Harry let himself be bustled into the Burrow by Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley levitated his trunk along behind them. As they crossed the threshold, Harry was astounded by the inside of the strange house. The door opened directly into what appeared to be a family room. Large patched sofas lined the wall, with a few armchairs spread about in a disorganized fashion. Hermione was sitting with her legs dangling off an armrest in one of the chairs, reading 'Hogwarts: A History' for what must be the thousandth time. She looked up as he entered, and smiled at him, before returning to her reading. If he didn't know her so well, he'd be offended at the lack of reaction, but he figured she was just absorbed in her reading. A small part of his mind reminded him that we wasn't really worth noticing, and that it was better to be hidden, than noticed, but he quickly quelled the thoughts. This wasn't the place for them.

"Make yourself at home," Mrs. Weasley said fondly, as she moved toward the kitchen. "I'll have you a plate of food ready in no time."

He thanked her as he stepped out of Mr. Weasley's way, so the older man could maneuver his trunk through the cluttered home. He had moved close to the large fireplace that dominated the center of the room, and noticed dozens of wizarding pictures on it's mantle. Harry's interest was quickly captured by the numerous pictures of his friends at various ages. He laughed as much younger versions of Fred and George tossed a toddler-aged Ron between them. The young Ron seemed to alternate between having loads of fun, and feeling sick.

He glimpsed a beaming Ginny, holding her Hogwarts letter. There was one of a haggard looking Mrs. Weasley, shouting silently at the twins, who were doing loops on brooms as they flew in and out of the picture. He continued down the mantle, looking at the multitude of family photos. He saw a picture of Percy, proudly holding his Head Boy badge, flanked by two other similar pictures, holding similar badges. He recognized a younger Charlie and Bill Weasley from their photo from their trip to Egypt they had won the previous summer.

He stopped on a group of photos, which seemed to have a place of prominence on the mantle. He was surprised to see a tired looking Mrs. Weasley in all of them, but understood when he saw what she was holding tenderly in her arms. Each picture had a different Weasley baby, being held by their proud Mother. He noticed Fred and George's picture, where Mrs. Weasley still looked happy, but would occasionally fall asleep for a minute or two. He stopped on the last picture, where Mrs. Weasley looked the oldest, but was also positively glowing with happiness.

"That was taken just hours after Ginny was born," said a voice from behind Harry, startling him badly.

"Sorry," he said quickly, as he whirled around to face the speaker. "I didn't mean to snoop."

The man smiled, as he offered Harry his hand. "I'm Bill," He said, shaking Harry's hand firmly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"You too," Harry replied, as he took in the eldest Weasley sibling's appearance. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting, but he knew it wasn't what he saw in front of him. In such close quarters, Harry had to crane his neck to look up at Bill. He looked extremely cool with his long red hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a large earring with a sharp looking fang on it.

Bill moved over to the picture of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, leaning down a little to get a better look. "Mum and Dad had wanted a girl so badly," he explained without prompting. "Even if she'd turned out to be a boy, she was going to be their last. I think Mum hoped that she'd have someone to teach the household magic she's spent years perfecting, and having someone to knit with, things of that nature." Bill laughed as he turned back to Harry. "Joke's on her I suppose. Ginny's scrappier than any two of us put together, and rubbish at any of the delicate charms necessary for housework."

He paused for a moment, in which Harry racked his brain, trying to think of what he was supposed to say in response. Before he could come up with anything, Bill was speaking again, though more seriously.

"Listen Harry," He began, looking down so his blue eyes fixed on Harry's green ones, making Harry want to squirm under his serious gaze.. "Sorry to be so blunt, but I wanted to thank you for saving my sister's life a year and a half ago. I considered sending you an owl about it just after I'd heard, but I decided I'd do it in person when we finally met."

Whatever Harry had been expecting from their conversation, it hadn't been that. "No problem," he replied, as confidently as he could manage. For some reason he felt torn between being intimidated by Bill, and wanting to impress him.

"No problem…" echoed Bill, his eyes still on Harry's, with a small smile tugging at his lips. "Mum and Dad explained to me what happened."

Harry began to feel intensely self conscious. Slaying the basilisk had been much more luck than skill. He probably should have died there in the chamber along with Ginny. The best he'd hoped for going in was to die _instead_ of her.

"Later on," Bill continued, "I got Ginny to tell me the _full_ story about what happened down there. About how you killed a massive basilisk to save her. 'No problem' indeed. Ginny wouldn't be here without you, and I wanted you to know how much we appreciate what you did."

Harry felt as though he wanted to clear up the misunderstanding. That he hadn't been heroic, or skilled, or brave. He had been terrified, and very lucky. Had Fawkes not shown up to save him with both the tears to heal him, and the Sword of Gryffindor, they'd have both died down there. He managed a weak, "You're welcome," instead, and finally looked away from Bill's gaze.

Bill smiled at him for a moment longer, before wishing him a good night, and heading around the fireplace toward the stairs. Harry stood awkwardly for a moment, before Hermione piped up from her spot on the armchair.

"He's right you know," she said, having set her book on a nearby table, her place marked by a large tasseled bookmark. Harry turned to her, feeling a little exasperated.

"Not again Hermione," he said, hating the fact that he could tell his cheeks were still flushed from Bill's gratitude. "I've told you before, I wasn't a hero or anything. I casted blindly at it, and then got bitten. I wouldn't have made it without Fawkes and the Sorting Hat."

"Help or no help Harry," she replied, "slaying a basilisk is an impressive feat by itself, not to mention the fact that Ginny would have died without your help." Her tone indicated to him that she thought she had the right of it. Which, if he was being honest, was usually true. He tried to look everywhere but at Hermione. Such a serious and unexpected conversation with Bill had flustered and overwhelmed him.

Thankfully, Hermione seemed to drop it. He was saved any more awkwardness by Mrs. Weasley calling his name from the dining area. He swerved around the armchairs filling the room, and nearly sprinted to the warm meal awaiting him at the massive wooden dining table.

"We had a bit of steak and potatoes left for you," she said as he sat down on a rickety chair. "I hope it's enough. Ron is going through twice as much food as usual this summer. Growing like a weed…" she trailed off, as thunderous footsteps from the stairway interrupted her.

"Suddenly grown giant's feet have you?" she hollered up the stairs. Harry watched nervously as she paused for a moment, before she turned a bright, angry red. "Fred! George!" she bellowed around the stairs, "there had better not be anybody with giant's feet in this house!"

"Don't you worry," came one the twin's voices from around the corner.

"We haven't fed anyone anything," said the other.

"We haven't even made a Giant's Feet Treat," said the first.

"But we'll get right on it!"

"Thanks for the idea!"

Mrs. Weasley stormed towards the voices, leaving Harry to his food. The stomping had turned out to be Ron, who took a seat next to Harry. Harry was surprised to see that Mrs. Weasley was right, and Ron had indeed grown considerably over the summer.

"Glad you're here mate," he said by way of greeting. "Hermione arrived days ago, but all she does is lounge around and read. Surely she has that book memorized by now."

Harry didn't reply, as he was savoring the meal Mrs. Weasley had given him. The Dursleys didn't usually starve him completely, but he didn't necessarily eat well either.

"Charlie is here too," Ron continued, "but he's already asleep. He had to pull an all nighter last night to get his team ready to work without him for the cup." He glanced back to where Mrs. Weasley was laying into the twins just out of sight. "I expect he's put up some silencing charms though."

Ron paused for a moment, apparently in thought, before continuing.

"Hey Harry, why'd Dad and Fred have to come get you so late? Mom and Dad said they were going to Floo over to meet your Aunt and Uncle. Dad had almost gotten your fireplace temporarily hooked up to the network. They had a bit of an argument about coming to get you at night after your family had gone to sleep, but Dad pointed out that they'd said you could come, and she eventually gave in."

Harry had stopped eating as Ron had asked his question. He thought back to Mr. Weasley expressing reservations about 'secreting him away' in the middle of the night, and felt terrible for having caused an argument between his friend's parents.

"The Dursley's have an electric fireplace," Harry said, pretty sure that Ron wouldn't be as interested as his father was, but figured it was worth a shot anyway. "I doubt they'd have been able to Floo over there at all, and like I said, my Uncle had a big business deal to work out in the morning, and they didn't want to be disturbed the whole day before as they got ready for it." Harry felt a familiar pang of guilt as he lied once again about his relatives. He hated lying to his friends, but he hated the idea of them knowing the truth more.

Ron seemed to digest this, and Harry jumped in with a question of his own in an attempt to distract his friend. "What did your mum mean 'There had better not be anyone with giant's feet' when she was yelling at Fred and George? Why's she yelling at them anyways?"

Ron grinned mischievously as he leaned in closer, which Harry thought unnecessary, as Mrs. Weasley's continued yelling would cover anything they were saying just fine.

"Mum found order forms that Fred and George had made for a joke shop they're working on. They had all sorts of strange candies and trick items on there. She went mental, told them they were wasting their education at Hogwarts and corrupting the younger children. I think she just sees it as the twins making people pay to do their pranking for them." Ron once again looked a little thoughtful. "I'm not so sure that isn't exactly what they're doing," he added after a moment. "Make sure you don't eat anything they give you. Percy did by accident, and his ears grew ten times their normal size."

Harry choked a little on his last bite, trying not to laugh at the image of Percy with elephant sized ears. Mrs. Weasley came back into the dining room, still red-faced, just as Harry finished up.

"I hope you got enough," she said as she sent the plate and silverware flying into the kitchen with a flick of her wand.

"Yes," Harry replied gratefully. "It was wonderful."

"Glad to hear it," she said with a smile, before making a shooing motion at them. "Go on now. You had better head upstairs. You don't have to go to sleep right away, but don't stay up too late. You will all need to be up and moving by dawn to make it to the portkey on time, so get plenty of rest. You don't want to sleep through the World Cup!"

Ron grumbled, but lead the way up the stairs to his room. He suddenly began stamping his feet as they came close to a closed door on their right. Percy's head popped angrily out of the door seconds after Ron began stomping.

"Got giant's feet now have you?" he said crossly, in a passable, if unintentional, imitation of his mother.

"Don't think so," Ron said back, matching Percy's irritation. "Still glued to that world-changing cauldron report of yours?"

" _You_ might not find it important," Percy huffed, "but Mr. Crouch needs me to take care of important work like this, while he focuses on...other projects." Percy looked over at Harry, and his face relaxed into a friendly smile. "Welcome to our home Harry. I hope you enjoy your stay." He scowled over at Ron, "If you'll both excuse me." He slammed the door in Ron's face at the word 'me', and Harry could hear him casting a few spells from the other side of the door.

"Git," Ron muttered, as they continued up to Ron's room. "It's been 'Mr. Crouch says this. Mr. Crouch thinks that' the whole summer. Between Mr. Crouch, his cauldron report, some missing ministry employee, and some secret he keeps lording over us, he's been extra insufferable lately. And for Percy, that's saying something."

Hermione had caught up with them on her way to Ginny's room for the night. She had walked up while Ron was badgering Percy, and let out a sigh of exasperation.

"He's just doing his job Ron," she remonstrated in a tone that said this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. "Getting a job in the ministry directly out of Hogwarts is a major achievement. You should be proud of him." Ron grunted non-comitally in reply.

Hermione stopped at Ginny's room, and bid Harry a goodnight, noticeably omitting Ron, who seemed not to notice. A few steps later, they arrived at Ron's room. Even through the thick wooden door, they could hear a massive racket coming from within. Ron sighed, and opened the door resignedly, shooting Harry an apologetic look. Harry looked past Ron to see Pig, who was hooting non-stop, flying circles around a snowy owl sitting on top of Ron's dresser.

"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed, hurrying over to where his familiar was perched. Hedwig gave him a reproachful look, before looking up at the tiny owl flying about the room. Harry offered Hedwig his arm, who promptly hopped on, any trace of annoyance having left her body. She affectionately nipped at his fingers as he stroked her head. After a moment of reveling in the attention she was receiving, she lifted one of her talons, showing Harry a letter he hadn't noticed.

Harry untied the letter with his free hand, and moved his other arm closer to the dresser for Hedwig to step off. She reluctantly moved back to the dresser, where Pig had landed. The much smaller owl had not stopped hooting, but was now hopping around the larger owl. Harry ignored the pair as he began to read the letter.

 _Harry,_

 _I hope you're having a good summer. I've tried to write you this whole time, but your owl wouldn't take any letters to you. I had given up writing to you until you got to Hogwarts, but suddenly she brought me my quill and parchment, and pecked at me until I began writing. Smart bird you've got here, if a bit bossy._

 _If I had to guess, I would say that you probably aren't allowed to receive owls at your relative's house. I never met Petunia. She refused to come to your parent's wedding, which I expect would've been my only chance. Lily talked about her occasionally, but I got the impression they didn't get along well. Hopefully we'll get this whole Peter situation resolved quickly, and I'll be able to make good on my offer to take you in, if you're still interested._

 _Buckbeak and I have found a nice place to lay low, though it's a little far, so if you send Hedwig with a letter, it'll take some time to get here. I look forward to catching up in person, when we aren't quite so busy. I didn't get the opportunity to thank Dumbledore for saving us from those dementors by the lake, so when you see him this term, please tell him Snuffles said thank you._

 _-Your Godfather_

"Is it from Sirius?" Ron asked interestedly. Harry noticed he was trying to restrain himself from reading over Harry's shoulder. Harry handed the letter over by way of reply, letting Ron sate his curiosity.

"Wonder where he's staying," Ron said after he'd finished. "Gotta be somewhere far away if it'd take Hedwig a while to get there. She's one of the fastest owls I've ever met." He looked disdainfully at Pig, who had begun flying around the room again. "Not like this ruddy thing," he muttered, snatching a protesting Pig out of the air. He set the small owl on the dresser next to Hedwig, and gestured to the larger bird. "You could learn a thing or two from her."

Pig looked up at Hedwig, and began bouncing around the desk again, hooting loudly. Hedwig gave Harry a sharp look, before she lifted a talon, and pinned Pig to the desk. Ron snorted before flopping onto his bed, which had been transfigured into a bunk bed to accommodate Harry. Harry opened his trunk, which Mr. Weasley had placed at the end of the bed. He dug his pajamas out from underneath the mass of clothes he had tossed in at the end of last term. He tucked the letter from Sirius down in the bottom, next to his invisibility cloak, and closed the trunk. He was glad to finally change from Dudley's old clothes into his pajamas, one of the few pieces of clothing he had been able to purchase for himself at Diagon Alley. He often wished witches and wizards weren't quite so keen on wearing robes all the time, though it made it simple to hide his second-hand clothes..

He climbed up to the top bunk, and flopped face down onto the pillow. He felt the long day catching up with him, despite his excitement with both the World Cup and finally hearing from Sirius. He decided he'd wait until he was back at Hogwarts to write a letter back. He wanted to enjoy Hedwig's company a little before sending her on another long journey.

"You going to sleep already?" Ron asked from the bunk below him.

"I've been up since about five in the morning," Harry explained through a yawn, stretching as he did so. The transfigured bunk bed felt like heaven compared to his mattress at Privet Drive. "Besides, you heard your Mum. We've gotta be up at dawn."

"I know," Ron replied, "but I'm too excited about the cup to sleep." Harry heard him climb out of bed and change into his pajamas as well. "I'm glad your Aunt and Uncle said you could come."

"Me too," Harry said quietly, trying not to think about the Dursley's reaction to his vanishing act come next summer. There wasn't much he could do about it now, so worrying about it was pointless. Despite this, he could feel a knot of anxiety begin to form in his chest. His Uncle had really laid into him during his prison regimen, but he knew he'd be wishing for something as tame as that come next summer. He fought the rising tide of panic at his depressing thoughts by trying to focus on the upcoming Quidditch match instead. He was about to watch some of the best players in the world compete, and would be able to play on his own house team once the Hogwarts term started. Plus, maybe Sirius would find Peter, and he wouldn't even have to see the Dursleys again. The pleasant thoughts of flying, coupled with his exhaustion helped the panic subside, and he drifted quickly off to sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

He felt as though he had only just closed his eyes when Mrs. Weasley was gently shaking him awake. He could hear Ron grumbling from below him. "Oh stop complaining Ron," Mrs Weasley admonished as she was leaving the small room. "And don't forget to wear your muggle clothes you two. Be downstairs in ten minutes."

Harry lay still for a moment, the exhaustion of the previous day still laying heavy on his body. The haziness of sleep quickly lifted though, and he remembered where they were headed. He quickly climbed out of bed, and opened his trunk.

"Dunno how you're always so full of energy in the morning," Ron groused into his pillow.

"I've always been able to get up early," Harry said as he pulled Dudley's shirt back out. He frowned at it, wishing again that he had is own muggle clothes to wear. It certainly didn't help things that all the money he possessed was in wizarding currency. "Besides, you get more done in the day if you get up early." He grabbed a small bag of coins he kept in his trunk before shutting it. He was sure there'd be some interesting magical keepsakes to buy at the Cup.

"Hermione says the same thing," mumbled Ron, as he rolled slowly out of bed, and onto the floor.

Harry went over to Hedwig, who was perched on the open window. He offered her his arm once again, and she happily hopped on for more attention. "I'll be back after the cup," he said, as he scratched her head. "I don't know how long that'll be, but we'll come back here before going to school." Hedwig hooted her understanding, before taking flight out the window.

Hedwig's hoot woke Pig, who had been sleeping where he'd been pinned to the desk. The small owl hooted once, and hopped over to the open window.

"Who's heard of an owl that sleeps during the night," Ron said as stood up, and pulled on a bright green shirt. If Pig took offence, he didn't show it, hooting happily once more before hopping out the window, and flying after Hedwig.

"Why'd you name him Pig?" Harry asked, as they started down the stairs together. It was something he'd been wondering since he'd gotten Ron's letter.

"Ginny named him actually. Ridiculous name if you ask me."

Ginny's bedroom door opened as they passed it, and she stepped out behind them. She followed them down, Hermione behind her.

"His real name is Pigwidgeon," Ginny explained tiredly. "Ron just can't help being a prat to him." Ron grunted, too tired to take the bait.

"I like him," said Hermione, much more awake than either of the Weasley siblings. Harry knew she was an early riser like him. "Even if he is a little...eccentric." Ron grunted again, though it sounded more like a laugh.

As they stepped off the last stair, they all found themselves with small sandwiches thrust into their hands.

"No time for a proper breakfast," Mrs. Weasley said, handing Fred and George each a sandwich from the platter she was carrying. Both twins were sitting at the table, both looking ready to doze off while sitting up.

"Where's Percy?" Fred asked through a yawn. "Thought he'd be the first one down here since he loves to prattle on about how useful it is to get up early. Probably stayed up all night working on his report and whatever 'Top Secret' thing his girlfriend Mr. Crouch is working on."

"I'm surprised he hasn't let it slip yet," George followed, through a yawn of his own. "Since he can't help but tell us he's not allowed to tell us about 'important ministry secrets'."

"That's enough out of you," Mrs. Weasley admonished heatedly. She didn't seem to have forgotten the 'Giants Feet Treats' from the night before. "You two could certainly stand to act a bit more like your older brother. Like any of them for that matter! Percy has done very well for himself to get a job at the Ministry the summer after graduating from Hogwarts. You two will be lucky to even be allowed to graduate if you don't start applying yourselves this year. Your little 'project' is only distracting you from…" she trailed off, looking sideways at Fred and George, who suddenly looked far more awake than they had seconds before.

"Pockets." Mrs. Weasley commanded, her finger pointed down at the dining room table.

The room was quiet except for the grumbling of Fred and George as they turned out their pockets, socks, and waistbands. Soon a whole quarter of the table was covered in sweets, wands, and firecrackers.

"Is this all of it?" Mrs. Weasley asked cooly.

Fred and George nodded simultaneously, both looking equal parts abashed, and irritated.

Mrs. Weasley pulled her wand out of her apron, and waved it at the twins. " _Accio!"_

She waited a few moments before putting her wand back in her apron, satisfied. Before she could say anything else, Mr. Weasley interjected, breaking the awkward silence that had descended. "Percy will be apparting along with Bill and Charlie. They're all still in bed."

"Been apparating around all summer," Ron muttered to Harry, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Just got his license. He apparates down to breakfast most days."

Before Harry could say anything, Mr. Weasley began rounding them all up, herding the large group to the door. He was dressed in what Harry could only assume was supposed to be a muggle outfit. He handed them each a backpack as they passed on their way out the door. "Molly packed yours for you Harry," he said as he offered Harry a patched, faded green backpack. "Off we go now," he said loudly to the small group, once they'd assembled outside. Harry squinted in the morning sun, taking in the perfect, warm morning. "The portkey leaves shortly, and we won't get another chance if we miss it."

"Take care!" Mrs. Weasley called as they began down the dirt path. "And behave you two!"

"It's a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley as the neared the end of the path leading away from the Burrow. "We should arrive with a few minutes to spare though." The group followed Mr. Weasley quietly, everyone apparently too tired for much conversation. The quiet suited Harry just fine as we walked a few paces back from everyone else. He was excited to go to the Cup, but knew there would be more people there than he had ever seen in one place before. He didn't like being around lots of people, or a lot of noise, and the Quidditch World Cup would have both to spare.

He was lost in his thoughts until he noticed Hermione drifting back from the group to walk beside him. He noticed, to his slight dismay, that he hadn't outgrown her at all. She was still quite a bit taller than him, and her hair only served to make it worse. He felt unaccountably irritated at being the shortest of his friends. He hoped that she wouldn't bring up the conversation they had the night before. He was getting tired of having the same argument a few times per year. He noticed a thoughtful look on her face, touched with some nervousness. She tended to chew her lip when nervous, and he could tell she was fighting the automatic habit. Thoughtful and nervous wasn't her usual 'bossy' that preceded an argument about whether Harry was or wasn't brave for defeating a basilisk, Quirril, or taking on dementors. Even though he was pleased they wouldn't be arguing, Hermione wasn't often thoughtful and nervous when talking to him, and he didn't like uncharted territory.

They walked in silence for what felt like minutes, though was more likely a few moments. Whichever it was, it gave Harry ample time to worry about her silence.

"Is everything okay Harry?" Hermione finally asked, in an obvious attempt to act casual. He groaned inwardly. Between Ron asking about his late night pickup, his issues falling asleep the night before because of panicked thoughts of the Dursley's retribution, and now Hermione badgering him, he was beginning to feel as though he still the captive of his relatives, even though he had escaped them. For the briefest of moments, he considered telling her the full tortuous truth, as both her and Ron had indirectly asked about his problems with the Dursleys. He easily quelled the impulse though. Nobody else he knew had to endure the things he did, and he got more than enough notoriety as the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't need his moniker to lengthen to, 'Boy-Who-Lives-With-Nasty-People'. He didn't want any more attention, and certainly didn't want his friends to think less of him because of the way he was treated. He didn't like misleading his friend, but the alternative was worse.

"I'm just tired," he said, with a not-entirely-fake yawn for emphasis. It wasn't technically a lie. Small truths. "It's just past dawn, and I didn't sleep much the night before last either."

Hermione nodded slowly. She glanced over at him, though she tried not to look like she was giving him a quick once-over. He decided that he would definitely need to get some Muggle clothes. Dudley's old clothes made people ask questions, and he just wanted to be left alone. Harry quickened his pace slightly so they would close the small distance between him and the rest of the group, eliminating the pseudo-privacy that their distance had afforded her.

The sun was fully in the sky when the group arrived at a steep hill. Mr. Weasley gestured for them to begin climbing, pushing for haste, lest they miss their portkey. Ron and the twins grumbled as they began to climb the incline, their walk having done little to dispel the early morning fatigue. As Harry crested the top of the hill alongside Mr. Weasley, he saw two people standing close together, holding what appeared to be an old boot.

"Amos! Good to see you!" Mr. Weasley called.

"Arthur," the slightly older man said, extending a hand. "Good to see you as well. You've made it just in time. About five minutes until the portkey activates." He looked around at the group, who were scattered about, catching their breath from the climb. "All of these yours?"

"All but two," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing to Hermione and Harry. "Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

" _Merlin's beard,_ " said Amos, his eyes wide, looking down at Harry. Harry was grateful to see Mr. Weasley wince slightly at having called attention to who his was. "Harry Potter! It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Harry noticed the man's eyes travel up to his forehead, as most people's eyes did. He was used to it by now, but it still made him feel a bit like a zoo animal.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said, looking away from the wizard's still bulging eyes.

"Amos. Amos Diggory," he said after a moment. "And this is my son Cedric. I believe you two know each other. He told me all about your exciting quidditch match last year."

"Cedric is an excellent seeker," Harry replied lamely, his eyes still on the ground.

"Indeed he is," Mr. Diggory said, with a smile for his son, who was attempting to hide his embarrassment.

Mr. Weasley rescued Harry from the situation when he looked at his watch. "Just about time," he said, gesturing everyone over. "Everyone grab hold." Harry obediently touched the least grimy part of the boot that he could manage, and felt very silly. They stood for a few moments, a great clump of people standing silently on a hilltop, holding a grimy boot between them. Mr. Weasley began to count down, and when he reached 'one', Harry felt an odd sensation in his stomach, and was jerked forward.

He hadn't known what to expect, having never traveled by portkey, but he certainly hadn't been expecting the mess of colors and howling wind as they all jostled each other around in the bizarre space. Suddenly, and without warning, he felt his feet slam into solid ground, and collapsed with Ron on top of him. Harry quickly staggered to his feet, out from under his friend. He looked around, and saw that only Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric had managed to remain standing. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all getting slowly to their feet. Fred and George were pushing each other over every time one tried to stand.

"Ottery St. Catchpole group," said a tired voice, with the dull tones of someone who has been repeating the same phrase until it had lost all meaning. "Please make your way over here. We will locate your campsite for you."

"Hello Basil," Mr. Weasley said cheerfully to the haggard looking wizard.

"Morning Arthur," the squat wizard named Basil replied, only slightly less monotonously than before. "Glad to see you get to attend the cup. We've been here all night…" He trailed off, staring blankly at the clipboard.

"Sorry to hear that," Mr. Weasley said after a moment. "Do you know where our campsite is?"

"Hm? Oh yes, sorry." Harry looked around while Basil looked through the parchments on his clipboard. He saw other zones with rope around each one in a large circle. He watched another, smaller group appear clutching a rolled up newspaper. "First field over that way," he heard Basil say. "You're looking for Mr. Roberts."

"Thanks, Basil. Good luck," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing for everyone to follow him.

Harry's feet were throbbing as they approached the misty field. A small stone building appeared suddenly in front of them, with an elderly man standing out front. He showed them the way to their campsite after Hermione helped Mr. Weasley figure out exactly how much money to give the attendant. Harry was half listening as the old man talked about all the foreigners that were setting up camp in the field, and how bizarrely they acted. Mr. Weasley was doing his best to appear both interested, and surprised by the things Mr. Roberts was saying. Harry noted the strange tents they passed on the way to their campsite, and wondered how Mr. Roberts thought all the wizards were only foreigners.

His question was quickly answered, as a short wizard with a ministry badge walked up out of the mist, and quickly obliviated Mr. Roberts. Harry had a distaste for the memory modification charm after the revelations about Lockhart, but he could certainly see why it was necessary here. He wondered why they had a Muggle tend the field in the first place.

Harry marveled at the lavish tents they passed on the way to their campsite, which only served to increase his concern about poor Mr. Roberts and his memory. He felt a pang of sympathy for the old man, and hoped he would be okay after the Cup was over. As they arrived at their empty lot, Mr. Weasley dropped the pack he had been carrying, and turned to address the group.

"We're not supposed to be doing magic when we're all out in great numbers like this," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing to the obviously magical tents and campfires around them. He faltered a bit at the sight, but continued. "Well, we'll be the ones to follow the rules anyway. We will just have to put up the tents by hand!" He said with an enthusiasm clearly felt by no-one else in the group. He pulled two large canvas tents out of his pack, and handed the smaller of the two over to Hermione and Ginny. He turned to Harry, holding some metal stakes in one hand. "How do you reckon we should start?" He asked Harry excitedly.

Harry fought the small surge of panic at being unable to answer the question. The Dursleys had certainly never taken him on their camping trips, electing to lock him in his room instead. Being stuck in a room for a whole weekend was not something Harry enjoyed, though he did like knowing he wouldn't have to see a single Dursley for a whole weekend. Plus he usually got to eat a much more substantial meal when they returned, as they knew he hadn't eaten. They were also usually in good spirits, for them anyway, after some time away from him. They hadn't been camping in years though, not since Dudley had grown too large for them all to fit in their tent.

"Uh…" Harry managed, silently lamenting the effect the thought of the Dursleys had on him. He felt like he had molasses where his brain should be every time they came up in his mind, and it took him some time to come back to reality. Growing frustrated with himself, he couldn't help but wish he didn't have all these issues. It certainly wasn't the first time he had wished so, and he suspected it wouldn't be the last. He looked up at Mr. Weasley, who was waiting patiently for a response. "I'm not sure, sir," he said quietly, looking away from the older man. Harry barely managed not to flinch when Mr. Weasley placed a hand on his shoulder, but the effort of it made his whole body tense up.

"No worries Harry," Mr. Weasley said as he removed his hand from Harry's shoulder, and looked over at Ginny and Hermione, who had enlisted Ron to help them set up. "We'll just follow their lead then, sound good?" Harry nodded mutely, accepting one corner of the tent as Mr. Weasley offered it to him.

The sun was well into the sky by the time both tents had been erected. The group stood slightly back to admire their handiwork, before Mr. Weasley gestured them towards the larger tent for a 'tour'. Harry estimated they could all fit, though it might be a bit cozy. He followed Hermione through the open tent flap and his mouth fell open in surprise. He felt a little silly for being shocked, considering all the time he had spent in the magical world, but he supposed Mr. Weasley's admonitions of restricting magic use had kept Harry from considering the possibility. The tent easily held the seven of them, with a bathroom and kitchen off to one side. "It's bigger on the inside," he murmured aloud, looking around. He heard Hermione giggle next to him, and felt his face flush.

"Sorry," she said, covering her smile with her hand. "I wasn't laughing at you. What you said reminded me of an old show my parents used to watch on the telly."

Harry tried to smile back at her, though he'd never seen a television show beyond glimpses of Aunt Petunia's daytime shows as he was cleaning. After the short tour, they all got to work getting everything settled in the two tents. Harry tried to choose a bed that wasn't completely covered in cat hair, but gave it up as a bad job.

Hermione and Ginny left with Ron to go get some water for the campsite, while the rest of them began gathering fallen branches from the nearby cluster of trees. Mr. Weasley handed Harry his box of matches after burning through half the box in amazement. They were getting hungry, and it would be a little while before the fire was hot enough to cook on. By the time Hermione, Ginny, and Ron returned with the water, the fire was nearly ready.

"Took you long enough," George groused to Ron as they walked up, buckets in hand.

"Ran into Seamus and Dean," Ron said, setting his large bucket down with a groan.

Mr. Weasley had just placed his cooking pan on the fire, and put in some eggs and sausage when the elder Weasley siblings came walking up.

"Just apparated in," Percy said, pointedly ignoring Fred's very obvious eye roll.

"Smells good," Charlie said, rubbing his hands together. Mr. Weasley added a second pan to the fire for the new arrivals, whistling as he cooked. Harry recognized Charlie from the Weasley's picture from their trip to Egypt. The second oldest Weasley was an impressive sight. Short, stocky, and muscular, he cut an imposing figure to the skinny Harry. He had a large angry burn on one of his arms, and a few scars marred his face, though his friendly smile kept him from looking too intimidating. Charlie came over to introduce himself to Harry, when they were interrupted when a tall man in yellow and black robes came bounding up, calling Mr. Weasley's name.

"Ludo!" Mr. Weasley called back, waving the man over. "Ludo Bagman," Mr. Weasley said by way of introduction. "He's the whole reason we're all here."

Mr. Bagman smiled at the group and waved, "So this is your family then Arthur?"

Percy quickly stood up, and offered his hand. "Percy Weasley, sir. Pleasure to meet you."

Mr. Weasley continued the introductions, everybody waving as their name was mentioned. Harry was slightly relieved to notice only a small reaction from Mr. Bagman when he was introduced. Better than the usual people who immediately looked up at his scar.

Harry tuned out the conversation as Mr. Bagman began asking Mr. Weasley about placing some bets, though he couldn't help but notice Fred and George as they began whispering to each other, and piling coins on the ground between them. He grabbed a small portion of sausage and eggs, and retreated a small distance away from the fire to eat. The middle of summer was far too warm to be cozied up to such a large fire. He sat down next to Hermione and Ron, who had each grabbed their own plates of food.

The ate in relative silence, listening as Mr. Weasley chastised the twins for spending all their money on, "a fool's bet." Harry noticed that Mr. Bagman had seemed all too happy to pocket their money, despite their age. Mr. Weasley was speaking highly of Ludo Bagman to the group, but Harry now suspected at least some of it was due to Mr. Bagman's position at the Ministry. Not to mention the World Cup tickets.

"Mum will go spare if she finds out Fred and George bet all their money on Quidditch," Ron said, leaning over closer to Harry so he could speak over the dull roar of the other campsites, which had all become more raucous as the day went on. "Though she might go easy on them if she thinks it'll keep them from opening that joke shop."

"Why is she so against their shop?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised that Mrs. Weasley wasn't being supportive of the twin's dream.

"I think she wants everyone in the family to have jobs at the Ministry really," Ron explained, finishing off his second helping of eggs. "Though Bill working for Gringotts seems to be okay, though she doesn't like the more dangerous parts of curse-breaking."

"Surely she doesn't think Fred and George have any interest in the Ministry," Hermione joined in, also leaning close to be heard. "I would think an interest in being entrepreneurs would make her happy. They only seem to like hitting bludgers and getting into mischief. It's good for them to have a goal."

"She might be happy if they wanted to open a bookstore or something," Ron replied.

Harry backed away from the close proximity by masking it in a stretch, and standing up to take his dishes to the kitchen inside. He automatically grabbed Hermione's empty plate, but left Ron his, as he was grabbing a third helping. Hermione thanked him, before admonishing Ron to leave some for the others, noting that Bill and Charlie hadn't eaten yet. Harry grabbed a few other empty plates, eliciting a small smile from Ginny as he grabbed hers, and headed to the tent. The noise of the campground died away instantly as the tent flap closed, to Harry's relief. He suspected there was some sort of charm on the tent, as the noise had completely vanished. He hadn't noticed how the crowd and the noise had begun to bother him, but now that it was gone, he felt much better. The feeling didn't last long though, as he thought again about why only _he_ seemed to have these problems. Ron didn't seem to mind the crowds, and the noise, nor did Hermione or any of the other Weasleys.

Harry grabbed the small bucket of water next to the sink, and poured it in. He began vigorously washing the dishes as he lamented his issues. He just wanted to be left alone, he didn't want people looking at his scar, and he didn't want people hugging or grabbing him. He considered it a moment, and admitted to himself that he actually just wished that he didn't always tense up when Mrs. Weasley hugged him, or on the rare occasion that Hermione did so. It made him extremely happy that Mrs. Weasley was always so pleased to see him. She was the first and only person to ever greet him in such a way. Hagrid always had a hearty hello for him, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to treat him almost like one of her own.

That thought brought a slight pause to Harry's cleaning, as he imagined what it would be like to live with the Weasleys all the time. He wondered if he'd be allowed to do magic while he cleaned. That'd certainly make life a lot easier. He expected Mrs. Weasley would appreciate the break that having him around to do the chores would offer. It'd be much more bearable doing all the work he usually did if it was all appreciated. He knew he'd never get anything like that from the Dursleys.

Once again, the thought of his Aunt and Uncle seemed to turn his mind to mud, as he began to clean faster in frustration. He had already finished the dishes, and had moved to sweeping the surprisingly wooden floors of the tent with a broom he found stashed by the bathroom. There was a lot of cat hair on the floor as well, which made it a little more difficult to get it as clean as he preferred. He had begun his second pass of the floor when he was startled by a voice.

"Harry?" Hermione said tentatively from the small entranceway. "Are you okay?"

Harry concealed his annoyance at being asked the same question twice in one day. "Yeah," he said smiling at her. "Trying to get rid of some of the cat hair, make it a little cleaner in here." Instead of being reassured, she frowned at him, letting the tent flap close behind her.

"You were scowling at the floor as you swept," she said quietly, not taking her eyes off him.

The scrutiny made him extremely anxious, and he looked away from her concerned gaze. He tried to gather his thoughts, jumbled as they were. He wanted nothing more than to not have to talk about the Dursleys with anyone, let alone one of his closest friends. He just wanted to forget about them, and enjoy this once in a lifetime opportunity. He furiously quelled his rising panic. He didn't want his friends to know about his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, but there were only so many times he could freak out about it in one day before he began to get angry with himself. He could handle it on his own, but he knew Hermione was the smartest of them, and the fact that she had approached him twice meant she felt like she was onto something. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't let anything go until she had satisfied her curiosity. He didn't want to be having this conversation, and hoped he could satiate her curiosity with a small nugget of truth.

"Please keep it to yourself," he said, feeling unaccountably vulnerable admitting even such a small portion of the truth. "I didn't ask the Dursley's if I could come," he said quickly, still looking down at the floor.

"But why not?" Hermione asked surprised, and mildly perplexed.

"You know they don't like magic," Harry said, glancing at her to see her nod. He had told his friends simply that the Dursley's didn't like magic, not the extent of their dislike. "If I'd asked them if Ron's family could floo over to take me to the Quidditch World Cup, they'd have a fit. I expect I'll be in pretty big trouble next summer for running off."

He could tell Hermione was digesting what he said, her eyes squinted in thought. He hoped that she left it at that. She knew that he didn't like talking about his family, and he was more than a little annoyed that she kept bringing it up. "It's too late to do anything about it, I suppose," she said finally. "But you really shouldn't antagonize them if you can help it," she added, a trace of her bossiness coming out. "I know you said they don't like magic, but sneaking away is bound to have consequences whether magic is involved or not," she admonished him.

Harry stared at her blankly for a moment, her words slowly sinking in. _He_ shouldn't antagonize _them_? A brief flicker of anger at her words quickly died as he considered her statement a little longer. He now knew he had used magic to set the snake on his cousin at the zoo when they were much younger. The event which had triggered the Dursley's increased resentment of him. There was also the time when his Aunt Marge had come over, and he had actually argued with her when she had begun talking badly about his parents. He had a rough couple of weeks after that, even after his Aunt had left. He knew what the Dursleys were like, and yet he continued to do things that made his time there more difficult. Perhaps there was some truth to what Hermione said. Maybe he wasn't really as compliant as he liked to believe.

"I suppose you're right," he said quietly after a moment, feeling very tired all of a sudden. "I just really wanted to see the Quidditch World Cup. We don't get a chance like this every day," he said, only a partial lie. All he had _really_ wanted was to do was get away from Privet Drive. He glanced up at Hermione to see her face had softened only slightly.

"Well, like I said, it's too late to do anything about it. You had might as well enjoy yourself I suppose. I promise I won't tell anyone. I expect it would make Ron's parents very uncomfortable to know they came to get you without permission." She turned to leave. "I doubt you'll get the cat smell out just by sweeping, so come on out soon. You missed some interesting conversations between Mr. Bagman, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Crouch, who showed up just as you came inside."

"I'll be right out," Harry said, beginning to sweep again, hoping that she'd leave him be for a little bit. "Almost finished."

Hermione left without saying anything else, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't like what she had said about how he acted towards the Dursleys, but it did make a weird bit of sense. He had always tried to ignore their jabs about being a worthless troublemaker, which seemed to be their favorite descriptor of him. It fit well with the lie they had crafted to cover his yearly absences to Hogwarts. Hermione was right though, he did cause trouble from time to time.

He sighed as he finished sweeping. He didn't want his time at the World Cup to be tainted by weighty thoughts of his home life. He hoped Hermione had satisfied herself with their discussion, and would leave him to try and enjoy himself. She had been completely right about one thing though, there would certainly be consequences next summer.

Harry placed the broom back where it belonged once he had swept the large mound of hair into a small bin in the kitchen. He took a moment to gather himself before heading back out to join his friends. Sure it was noisy, and he'd been pestered a lot by Hermione, but this was the Quidditch World Cup! Despite the way he felt at the moment, he was also still extremely excited to watch a professional Quidditch match. Ron regularly talked about them when they were at school, but seeing one in person would be a whole different experience. He did his best to hold on to that excitement as he stepped out of the tent.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry shielded his eyes as he stepped from the dim tent out into the sunlight. When his eyes finally adjusted, he spied Ron over by the edge of their campsite, talking to Bill. Harry must have been in the tent longer than he'd thought, as Ron had time to pick up a number of flashy souvenirs. A small green hat with a shamrock on the front danced across the top of his head, ruffling his untidy red hair even further, and a green flower pinned to his lapel spun like a propeller. Ron appeared to be holding something in his hand, and Harry moved closer to see what it was, his curiosity peaked.

"What's that?" Harry asked as he walked up to the pair. He was surprised to find that Ron was holding a very small man in the palm of his hand. A silent sigh of relief escaped him as he noted that it wasn't at all difficult to sound like he hadn't just been deeply examining the least favorite aspect of his life.

Ron turned to him, moving his hand closer so Harry could get a better look. The small man was thin, with an almost Snape-like nose and very thick black eyebrows. The tiny man was wearing quidditch robes whose colors were distinctly at odds with Ron's other purchases. Apparently this man played for Bulgaria. The small man swatted at Bill's finger when he poked at it again.

"This is a miniature Viktor Krum," Ron said happily, holding him a little higher. The small Viktor Krum quit swatting at Bill, and puffed out his skinny chest, adopting a proud hands-on-hips stance. Bill prodded it once more, and knocked the small Krum over. "All right," Ron said half laughing, half irritated. "Knock it off. He'll run off if you keep it up." Bill laughed, and departed towards where Charlie and Mr. Weasley were chatting by the dying fire.

"Who's Viktor Krum?" Harry asked when Bill had left

"Only the greatest seeker in the whole Quidditch League," Ron said reverently. "Made seeker for Bulgaria at only eighteen. He's still in school too. Can you imagine…" Ron trailed off, lost in a fantasy of crowds cheering his name.

Hermione came up only a moment later, snapping Ron out of his fantasy.

"Were you telling Harry about what Mr. Crouch was saying?" she asked, her eye on Ron's tiny Viktor.

"What about it?" Ron groused. "He didn't say anything that Percy hasn't been prattling on about all summer."

Harry thought back to Ron's complaints back on the stairs of the Burrow the night before. "You mean the missing ministry employee, and whatever secret it is that Percy is in on?"

"That's exactly it," Hermione said, looking disgustedly away from the miniature seeker, who had begun making kissing faces at her. "Apparently the missing woman's name is Bertha Jorkins. She's been missing for over a month now, and Mr. Bagman doesn't seem the least bit concerned, even though she's from his department."

Hermione's voice faded into the distance when Harry heard her say 'Bertha Jorkins'. A hazy half-memory came flitting to the surface of his mind.

 _He thought he remembered a man. An older man, standing by a fireplace. Or maybe he was near a fireplace. There were people talking. Two of them. Talking about Bertha Jorkins and the World Cup._

Harry tried hard to remember what they had been saying. He couldn't remember the words, only a high pitched, grating voice. He tried to focus back on the fireplace, something he felt he could remember somewhat clearly.

 _Standing next to the fireplace was a tall man with disheveled sandy-blond hair. Harry didn't recognize him._

Harry dug deeper, trying hard to remember something useful.

 _He remembered a chair. And a rug. The rug was moving. Not a rug._

 _A snake._

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the snake in his memory lunged at him, mouth wide.

"Harry?" Hermione said concernedly, trailing off from whatever she had been saying about some secret that Ludo Bagman had been alluding to.

"It's nothing," he said quickly, hoping he was telling the truth. "I thought I'd heard the name Bertha Jorkins before."

Hermione gave him a quizzical look. Harry could almost see the struggle within her to ask him about it, but was appreciative to see her let it go.

"Well anyway," she said, "Mr. Bagman kept talking about some sort of diplomatic initiative that Mr. Crouch kept trying to avoid mentioning. If I had to guess, I would say that's what's been so hush-hush with the Ministry, but I don't see why diplomatic relations to other magical societies would be kept a secret."

"I'll just be glad when it's over," Ron grumbled, clearly bored of any conversation about the Ministry. "Come on Harry, Let's get you some proper Ireland gear."

Hermione looked a little put-out, but let them go without complaint, as she headed over to where Ginny was sitting alone. Ron led Harry down the trodden path that led away from their campsite to a clearing where many people had gathered. Harry saw a group of wizards that were followed by large floating trays. They were each shouting the names of their wares, and showing them off to all who looked their way. Harry patted the pocket of his pants where he had stashed his bag of money. He felt the satisfying 'clink' of many coins banging against each other.

Ron made a beeline for one of the vendors, gesturing Harry over. As he approached, he saw that this was the one selling the tiny Viktor Krums. Harry looked closer, and began to laugh as two of the Krums had started to fight. More of the miniatures joined the fray, and to the dismay of the saleswizard, toppled the tray over, spilling the fighting Krums into the grass. Harry stepped gingerly around the pile, and over to a hat vendor. He purchased a green hat to match Ron's, which, as soon as he placed it on his head, began dancing in time with Ron's.

His attention was again grabbed by another vendor who was shouting very loudly, and surrounded by a large crowd of people. Harry and Ron bumped their way up to the front, where they saw a tray full of polished brass binoculars. Ron let out a low whistle through his teeth.

"Omnioculars here!" the portly saleswizard called to the crowd. "You can rewind, slow down, get a play by play, call up player statistics, and zoom in close enough to read the serial numbers on the brooms! A steal at just ten galleons!"

Harry had yet to get a handle on the wizard currency. He'd never bought anything with muggle money either, but had a general idea of how much the basics cost. Even if that was only because the Dursleys liked to remind him how much he was costing them. He did, however, know that ten galleons was quite a bit of money, even for such an interesting magical item. Harry glanced over to Ron, who was gazing longingly at the omnioculars. Harry had grabbed enough money to buy himself, Ron, and Hermione each a pair, but he doubted Ron would let him just buy a pair for them without complaint. Wishing dearly to avoid another confrontation, he dragged himself away from the omnioculars, and over to the vendor selling the green flowers. He purchased one for himself, and pinned it to his shirt in the same place Ron had his. They grinned at each other as their hats and flowers danced and spun in time.

He looked around at some of the other items for sale, making a stop at a saleswizard who was advertising ever-sparklers. He was holding two in each hand, waving them about, leaving green glittering trails behind them. The man boasted that each wand-shaped sparkler would shine for a full two weeks after being lit, after which they would turn a solid green as a keepsake for your home. Harry was considering buying one when a very loud gong sounded off in the distance. The crowd began to clear out as colored lanterns sprung into existence, lighting a path away from the campsites. He and Ron hurried back to their group, who were all sporting some memorabilia of their own, except for Fred and George, who had no money left to spend.

"Everybody here?" shouted Mr. Weasley, counting heads. "Off we go!"

It wasn't long before they were in sight of the impressive stadium. Their short walk had taken them through the woods, and eventually out the other side. By the time they had arrived, the atmosphere of excitement had engulfed everyone around them, Harry included. People sang, laughed, danced, and joked as they walked towards the titanic golden walls of the stadium. Harry laughed along with Fred and George, who had bewitched Ron's hat to breakdance atop his head. Ron was pleased rather than irritated, as the new dance was much more lively than the one it had been initially enchanted with. As they grew closer to the magnificent structure, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the towering walls that shone bright in the midday sun.

"It can seat nearly a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley said, having noted Harry's awestruck face. "The Ministry had to work hard all year to build it. They have...recently...become very interested in further developing their relationship with our foreign magical counterparts."

Their group, along with a considerable amount of other attendees, approached a massive set of doors, and took their place at the end of an orderly queue. A pair of young ministry employees stood to either side of the door, taking tickets as they were thrust upon them. When Mr. Weasley was finally able to approach, the witch on the left took his tickets, and counted the group behind him.

"Those are some prime seats there Arthur," she said as she handed the stubs back. "Well done, hope you enjoy yourself. Top box is right up the first set of stairs on your left, follow them all the way up."

"Thanks Maggie," Mr. Weasley replied with a smile, before gesturing the group to follow him, and leading them up the stairs. Harry felt as though his head was on a swivel, trying to see every bit of the opulent stadium. The stairs were a bright purple, with tapestries along each side of the wall that bore all the teams in the Quidditch World Class League. Ron began gesturing excitedly as they passed a tapestry bearing the Chudley Cannons' sigil. He dropped his arms and glared when Fred suggested that was the closest Chudley would ever be to a World Cup. George and Charlie laughed at this, but Ron's excitement wasn't so easily diminished.

Quite suddenly, the stairs ended, and the large stairwell opened up to clear box, set halfway between the tall goal posts on either side of the field. About thirty comfortable chairs sat in three rows in the box, a few of the seats were already filled, but the front row was completely empty. Mr. Weasley shepherded his group into the empty first row, and took his place at the end of the row, nearest the entrance. Harry goggled at the scene in front of him. It truly seemed as though a hundred thousand witches and wizards were milling about in the stadium, making it seem as though it were pulsing with movement. He pressed up against the glass, looking down below the box, noting just how high up they were.

After reading a few of the advertisements on the large board directly in front of them, Harry looked around the box to see who they would be sharing the space with. He saw the Weasley's getting situated, with Mr. Weasley standing at the end of their row, talking with a small group of people. A few people sat in the upper corner, talking quietly amongst themselves. Harry could catch snippets of their conversation, though he couldn't recognize their language. He shifted slightly to look behind him, and was surprised to see Dobby sitting in the next to the last seat.

"Dobby?" Harry asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

He saw Ron and Hermione look over when they heard him speak.

"My name is Winky, Harry Potter, sir," the house elf said through its hands, which were plastered over its face. Harry could see one of Winky's large eyes looking at him through a crack in it's fingers. Harry was unsurprised that the elf knew of him by his scar, as many people did.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, taking in the elf's appearance. He could now see that this elf was a bit smaller than Dobby, though it had much larger ears. He quickly turned around, a little embarrassed at having misrecognized the house elf.

The box began to gradually fill over the next quarter hour. Harry could hear many different languages being spoken. He figured there must be witches and wizards from all over the globe taking their seats in the top box. He felt a little intimidated to be sitting close to, what were likely to be, some very important people. He was oddly relieved to see a boy younger than him arrive, with who he assumed was the boy's father. Harry felt less out of place with a few other people his age in the box, besides his group. A few more families arrived, taking spots in the middle row, one just next to Winky. Harry assumed she was saving the seat next to her for whoever she worked for. He saw Mr. Bagman stride in talking animatedly with the group he was with, waving to Harry and Mr. Weasley as he took his seat. Harry was about to turn around and look back out at the stands when the newest arrival caught his eye.

A middle aged man in green robes had just walked in, talking quietly to the willowy young witch next to him. It was the witch who had grabbed his attention and held it so firmly. He was confident in his thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She appeared to be a little older than Harry, but he doubted she was out of school yet. Harry couldn't help but stare at her, taking in her silvery-blonde hair, the like of which he had never seen before. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind to call out to her, to say something, but he quelled the feeling quickly. He couldn't stand the mortification of everybody looking at him after he'd done so. Besides, what could someone like him say to her anyway? He surely had nothing worth saying.

He saw a number of the other men in the box turn to look at her, the Weasleys, save for Mr. Weasley, included. She appeared not to notice though, as she gestured to two open seats on the top row at the end, directly opposite where Harry was sitting. Harry looked away, deciding to try to avoid looking her direction again. He knew if he did, he'd want to say something to her again, and he didn't want to look like a fool. He heard Ron grunt as Hermione elbowed him in the side sharply.

"Close your mouth, you neanderthal," she snapped at him.

"Ima whu..."Ron replied intelligently, his mouth still slightly open, his eyes lingering on the beautiful witch.

"And sit down," Hermione said as she elbowed him again. Ron had half stood, his hand on the back of his chair.

Ron was broken out of his stupor by a loud boisterous voice that Harry recognized immediately. Cornelius Fudge strode into the box, talking loudly to a group of people that were following him. He greeted a few of the closer people to the door, his gaze lingering on the silvery-blonde witch. After shaking hands with a few nearby people, he gestured grandly, getting everyone's attention in the box. The conversations died quickly, as everyone in the box gave him their attention.

"I wanted to thank you all for being our honored guests to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup," Fudge said, smiling to the occupants of the top box. "We are overjoyed to host the Ministers from our neighboring countries, in the hopes that we will be able to continue a dialogue as friends in the near future. As you know, this year we have…" he paused briefly, glancing over at Harry's row briefly before continuing, "special events planned that will help further cooperation and coordination between our wizarding societies."

Fudge gestured to the man in the green robes as he continued, "We are, however, missing Minister Bellerose from France, as he could not attend due to the 50th anniversary of France's liberation from Grindelwald. He has sent along his good friend and Ambassador, Mr. Delacour. " Mr. Delacour smiled briefly, and waved to the other attendees. "The match will be starting soon, please let the staff know if there is anything you require."

Harry tuned out, as Fudge began talking to each group of people in turn, making introductions and chatting away. Harry glanced over as Fudge greeted Mr. Weasley, though with less enthusiasm than the other people he had greeted. His movement apparently caught Fudge's eye, and he quickly made his way down their row towards Harry. He winced as Fudge loudly called his name.

"Harry Potter, so good to see you again," Fudge said as he offered his hand to Harry. Everyone else in the box, besides Hermione and the Weasleys, all turned to look at Fudge and Harry. A murmur of whispers broke out, and Harry heard is name repeated in various accents.

Harry fought a losing battle against the flush on his face at the attention, and hoped his scar wasn't too visible. "Hello Minister," he said, as steadily as he could manage, shaking the offered hand. He tried very hard not to notice that the beautiful witch was now looking interestedly at him, while talking quietly with Mr. Delacour. He also noticed a glare coming from Percy, who had been completely snubbed by Fudge when he had tried to introduce himself.

"Glad you could make it Harry," Fudge said as he released his hand, "and in the top box too! I'd have invited you myself of course, if we weren't hosting all the other Heads of State this year. I've had my hands full just trying to communicate with some of them. Speaking of which…" he trailed off as he looked behind Harry at Winky, who was still hiding her face behind her large hands. "No sign of Barty Crouch yet then?"

"Er," Harry mumbled, "No sir."

"Please Harry, call me Cornelius," Fudge said with a smile that, to Harry, seemed a little forced. Harry was spared having to reply, as a new arrival caught the Minister's attention.

"Ah, Lucius!" Fudge said as he rushed back down their aisle to the entrance. "Good of you to join us!"

Harry looked over at the elder Malfoy, hoping against hope that he was alone. His stomach sank as he looked to the new arrivals. He saw Draco, looking politely interested in what Fudge was talking about, standing next to a severe woman who Harry assumed was his mother. Though he hated the Malfoys, he was glad for their arrival, as it had taken some of the attention off himself.

Ludo Bagman stood as the Minister finished speaking with the Malfoys. "Ready to go Minister?"

"Ready when you are Ludo," Fudge said, settling into a seat.

Ludo pulled his wand from his yellow and black robes and pointed it at his throat. " _Sonorus_ ," He said quietly. A small white burst from his wand hit him in the throat, and he began to speak in a voice that magically boomed over the din of the humongous crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards from all over the globe...England welcomes you to the final match of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

Bagman paused, allowing for the deafening cheer to die out a bit before continuing.

"Our two finalists have fought long and hard over the entire Quidditch season for their shot at the championship. Wands up for Bulgaria and Ireland!"

Another roar from the crowd came, louder than the first. Chants of 'Bulgaria Bulgaria" and "Green Green Ireland" began in the crowd. Even with his magically amplified voice, Bagman had to shout to be heard over the chants.

"Without further ado, it's my very great pleasure to announce the arrival of…" he paused for dramatic effect, and the crowd hushed a little in anticipation. "The Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The mass of red onlookers began to cheer, as Harry saw some people move onto the field. Harry leaned forward to get a better view, an action he saw mimicked by everyone else in his row. Even from his high perch in the top box, Harry saw the silver hair and ivory skin of the women on the field. Harry had an impulse to look back at the beautiful woman in the box, but managed to master the impulse, and focused on the women on the field. Music had begun playing, and the women had begun to dance, gradually moving faster and faster. Harry found the dancing to be entertaining enough, if not terribly interesting. He was surprised when he suddenly saw a few spectators leap from their seats onto the pitch. They ran towards the dancing women, some with arms outstretched, some apparently flexing their muscles, and some attempting to join the dance. The organizers seemed to have foreseen this, as some security witches came up, and levitated the wizards back to their seats.

"Veela," he heard Hermione mutter to herself, as she glanced around the top box. Harry took the opportunity to look around as well. He saw most of the men of the box enraptured by the performance. Many had open mouths and a glazed expression on their face, a few of them had stood, and were leaning forward over their seat in front of them. Fred and George had their faces pressed to the clear class of the box. Charlie and Bill had managed to keep their seats, though they also wore the dazed expression. Ron appeared as though he was going to try and ram his way out of the box, but he settled down a little when Hermione directed a sharp ' _Ronald_ ' at him, and stepped on his foot. Harry looked quickly away when he saw Hermione shift her attention from Ron to himself, an appraising look upon her face.

Harry glanced about the box once again, noticing that both the younger children and the women in the box appeared to be only mildly interested in the show. He glanced quickly at the woman in the corner, who he now figured to also be a Veela, whatever that was. She appeared to be quite bored, and slightly put out by the show. Mr. Delacour had an expression of mild interest, though Harry could tell he wasn't captivated like the others. To Harry's dismay, Mr. Delacour noticed Harry looking at them. He was surprised when the French ambassador smiled at him, and leaned over to the young witch, directing her attention to Harry. He looked away before he could meet her eyes, his face burning.

As the music ended, Hermione put her hands on Ron's shoulders, as he had once again risen, and had plastered his face to the glass wall of the box. The crowd seemed to grumble in disappointment, though the number of people leaping to the field had dwindled. The large group of Veela moved to the side of the field to raucous applause. Harry jumped when Ludo Bagman's voice boomed once again.

"And now, please put your hands together for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

A noticeably tamer round of applause met the announcement, as many people in the crowd were still focused on the group of Veela, who were simply sitting along the edge of the field. The disappointment didn't last long as Harry heard gasps from all around him as a brilliant green and gold comet flew out of the sky and into the stadium. The cheering grew loud again, this time though, the green spectators did the majority of the shouting. The comet did some impressive acrobatics, splitting apart and reforming multiple times as it soared around and through the goal hoops. For it's finale it traced a large glowing green shamrock upright in the air, as the golden part of the comet swirled faster and faster around it. As the comet became a tornado of golden light around the shamrock, it exploded in a shower of large golden coins. There was a roar from the crowd as the onlookers were pelted with the gold. The coins sounded like large hail on the top of the box, and Harry noticed Ron staring longingly up at the roof, where small piles were forming.

"Leprechauns!" Mr. Weasley said with a laugh, as he applauded along with the rest of the onlookers. The shimmering shamrock dissolved into small floating people, who gradually floated down to the field, and took seats opposite the Veela. The crowd had largely descended into chaos, as people scooped as much gold as they could into their pockets. Ron was still looking longingly up at the roof, where piles of the large coins had collected.

Ludo Bagman moved to the front of the box, a pair of omnioculars in hand. Using his magically amplified voice, he drew the crowd's attention for the introduction of the Bulgarian and Irish teams. Harry listened for Krum's name, wanting to see the supposed prodigy seeker in action. If his minifigure was anything to go by, Harry wasn't sure Krum would be coordinated enough to fly a lap around the pitch, let alone be a top seeker in the World League. The mini Krum was bowlegged and awkward when he wasn't glowering at everyone.

Krum came soaring out of Bulgaria's staging area to thunderous applause when Bagman called his name. Harry's doubts of Krum's ability vanished in an instant. The lanky man flew impressive aerial acrobatics to even louder cheers from the onlookers. Harry fancied himself a decent enough flyer. No one at Hogwarts had ever beaten him one on one to the snitch, but compared to Krum, he flew like a tossed brick. It was hard for him to believe they both flew on the same model of Firebolt. Next to him, Ron seemed just as impressed, unconsciously letting out a quiet 'wow' when Krum did a triple loop over his team.

Bagman announced the Irish team to their own raucous applause, each name earning another cheer from the green section. None of the team did any acrobatics like Krum did as they flew up to match the height of the Bulgarian team. Once the players were in position, Bagman started speaking once more.

"Please welcome, all the way from Egypt, Hassan Mostafa! Mr. Mostafa is the Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, and brother to the Egyptian Minister Naeem Mostafa, who is one of our esteemed guests in the top box tonight!"

A small skinny man walked onto the field, waving at the cheering crowd. He wore shimmering golden robes that matched the ornate walls of the stadium, and had a glowing silver whistle in his mouth, underneath a large mustache. Under one arm he carried the large wooden crate that held all four quidditch balls, with his Firebolt held in the other hand. He dropped the crate to the ground, and mounted his broom. The stadium grew eerily silent as they waited in anticipation, hundreds of thousands of eyes upon the referee and the box. A ringing note sounded from his silver whistle, and he kicked open the box. The crowd erupted in a cheer as the four balls few up into the air. The Quidditch World Cup was underway.

Harry tried to keep his eye on the snitch for as long as possible, but it vanished almost instantly. He tried to watch all the players as they flew around the stadium,but his eyes kept being drawn back to where Krum and the Irish seeker, Aidan Lynch, were flying high above the stadium. Bagman's play-by-play made it easier to watch the seekers, as he knew the overall score without watching the chasers or looking at the large scoreboard.

Ireland was up one hundred to ten when a collective gasp rang through the stadium. Krum and Lynch dove through the middle of the pitch, scattering the chasers that had bunched up there. Harry scanned the ground looking for a glint of the golden snitch. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't see a single sign of it. Krum and Lynch were at breakneck speed, with Lynch lagging a little behind Krum. If Krum managed to catch the snitch now, the game would go to Bulgaria. Harry heard Hermione gasp as they came ever nearer to the ground, still at top speed. At the very last moment, Krum pulled away from the dive, and out from in front of Lynch. Too late, the Irish seeker saw there was no snitch, and impacted hard upon the grass.

"A beautifully executed Wronski Feint by Viktor Krum!" Bagman said excitedly. "I've not seen one that perfect from seekers with twice his experience!" A sharp whistle blew from the referee, who was standing next to where Lynch lay motionless. "And that's a time-out!" announced Bagman. "Medi-witches and wizards will give Aidan Lynch a look, and see if he's fit to continue play!"

After a few potions and a couple more minutes in time out, Lynch was back in the air, though following Krum rather cautiously, and from a greater distance. The Irish seeker appeared to be hoping to spot the snitch before his Bulgarian counterpart, rather than outfly him. The Irish chasers seemed rallied by the injury to their teammate, and began pummeling the Bulgarian keeper with goal after goal. The Bulgarian team grew frustrated, and began flying far more aggressively.

Foul after foul was levied against Bulgaria, each time giving the Irish chasers a shot on the goals. The Bulgarian keeper put up an admirable defence, but was not up to the task of blocking all the penalty shots. After every point, the Leprechauns burst into laughter, pointing mockingly at the Bulgarian team, and their Veela mascots in turn. The Veela were shouting back at the Leprechauns, though from such a distance, Harry couldn't hear what they were saying. Judging by their gestures, it was far from polite.

After a particularly rough foul by one of the Bulgarian beaters, the Bulgarian team was forced to replace their beater with one of their reserve members. The Bulgarian section groaned and shouted as the players swapped places on the field. As the Bulgarian fans groaned, the Irish fans cheered and laughed. The Leprechauns joined in once again, this time directing crass comments and gestures at the Bulgarians and Veela alike.

Harry was astounded to see the Quidditch pitch between the mascots suddenly erupt in flames. He stood up to get a closer view of the Veela who had begun hurling fireballs at the Irish mascots. Harry saw large scaly wings sprout from the enraged Veela, and saw their silver hair change into similar colored feathers. Harry wished dearly that he had bought some omnioculars so he could get a closer look at them. Harry heard Mr. Weasley make a comment from down the row about how looks aren't everything. Before he could stop himself, he turned to look at the Veela sitting next to Mr. Delacour.

He was relieved when he didn't meet Mr. Delacour's gaze once again, as the man was whispering quietly to the young witch next to him, gesturing to some omnioculars he had in his hand. Harry could tell that her demeanor had changed a little from what it had been before. She was still sitting almost as she had been, but her long silver hair was now hidden behind her, rather than hanging over her shoulder. Her ivory skin was also flushed red with either embarrassment or anger, Harry couldn't tell, but she seemed to be trying to ignore it.

Harry quickly turned back around, wanting to give the beautiful witch some privacy. He knew what it was like to be stared at while feeling ashamed for something, and didn't want to make someone else feel as bad as it made him feel. The security team had broken up the fight between the Leprechauns and the Veela, and were restoring order to the stadium. The Veela had lost their wings and feathers, and were back to their attractive human forms, though the security force seemed to be lingering nearby.

A sharp whistle resumed play, with Ireland continuing their goal streak even further. When Ireland scored their one hundred and seventieth point, the green crowd went completely wild. At that point, even if Krum caught the snitch, the game would go to Ireland, as Bulgaria had only managed one goal. Harry heard Fred and George cheering Krum on, as the skinny Bulgarian seeker began doing faster laps of the pitch. Harry was so focused on Krum, that he nearly missed Lynch dive towards the Irish goals. Krum however, didn't miss the actions of his opponent, and dove as well. Krum was positioned closer to the Irish goalposts, though he had lost precious seconds by not having sighted the snitch first. Both sides of the crowd were shouting, the Irish side cheering on Lynch, the Bulgarian side shouting at Krum to avoid the snitch. The two seekers were streaks of green and maroon as they both opened up their brooms to top speed.

Harry could tell the Krum was leading on Lynch, his dive straight down being assisted by gravity. He could also tell that Krum was going to have to pull up before he got to the snitch to avoid colliding with the earth the way Lynch had. The shouting in the stadium reached a fever pitch as the two seekers drew nearer, both with arms outstretched.

The cheers turned to gasps and groans as Krum slammed into the ground, bouncing a few times before coming to rest a few metres from where he impacted the pitch. A hush fell on the ground as he lay still, facedown in the grass. Even Ludo Bagman stopped commentating as he looked through his omnioculars at the still form of Krum. A group of medi-witches and wizards ran over to check on Krum, the referee once again calling play to a halt. The first witch to reach Krum gingerly turned him over, and abruptly stood again in surprise.

"I don't believe it," whispered Bagman, who's voice still projected over the stadium, even as a whisper.. "Krum has the snitch!" He announced, back at with his normal enthusiasm. "He's unconscious, but it's clutched in his hand! Krum gets the snitch and ends the match one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy! Ireland is our four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup champions!"

The green section erupted in cheers, and their mascots followed suit. The Leprechauns flew into the air, forming much larger versions of their rude gestures and words from before. Harry wasn't exactly sure what all of the gestures were, but it enraged the Veela once again. They wasted no time in hurling dozens of fireballs at them, again having sprouted their large wings and feathers. As the two sets of mascots fought, the fire and sparks stopped in a circle around the unconscious Krum, a member of the medical team having apparently set a magical barrier to protect the injured player. He saw the security force intervene as much as they could, many being overpowered by the angry bird-women.

Ron was on his feet, cheering wildly along with many others in the top box who had been rooting for Ireland. Fred and George had begun to do a dance with each other, arms locked as they spun in circles. "We won! We won! We won!" they cheered, earning a mildly disapproving look from their father, which they ignored completely. Ludo Bagman glanced at them as well, a sour look on his face, which he quickly hid. The Irish fans were waving the banner of their team all around the stadium while the Irish national anthem played loudly over the cheers. The Veela and Leprechauns had been separated, the Veela once again returning to their human forms before being escorted dispiritedly off the field. The Leprechauns finally left the Veela alone as they reformed into the flying shamrock, and soared around the stadium to raucous applause and cheering.

Bagman's voice boomed once more over the crowd, gathering what attention he could. "The Quidditch Cup is here in the top box, ready to be awarded!" As he spoke the words, two wizards entered the top box from the stairwell, a humongous golden cup held between them. They set it on the ground next to Fudge, who had taken a position next to Bagman so he could be seen more clearly by the attendees. "The Bulgarian team arrives first to the top box, let's hear it for their valiant effort today!" Harry looked back to the door, where the disheveled Bulgarian team was coming in from the stairs. Noticeably absent was Viktor Krum, who Harry assumed was still being treated for his injuries. Both Irish and Bulgarian fans were cheering loudly for the defeated team, who all offered tired waves to the crowd.

"And now, to this years champions," Bagman announced grandly, gesturing to the Irish team who were entering behind him, "Cornelius Fudge, England's Minister of Magic, presents the Quidditch World Cup!"

The cheers were deafening as two of the Irish players held the cup above their heads. Everyone in the top box was clapping for the victors, some a little more enthusiastically than others. After soaking up the applause and admiration, the Irish team left. Once back on the pitch, they mounted their brooms once more, and took a victory lap around the field with the cup floating between them. As the Bulgarian team left as well, Bagman finally stepped away from his place at the window, and pointed his wand to his neck again.

" _Quietus."_

He bid the occupants of the box a hasty farewell, and all but ran down the stairs behind the Bulgarian team. The other occupants of the top box all stood, some opting to chat, while others followed Bagman down the stairs towards the exit. Harry was happy to see the Malfoys quickly bid Fudge farewell, opting not to engage anyone else in conversation. He stood in front of his seat, waiting for his group's turn to leave the box.

Harry looked behind him at the small house elf, who hadn't moved or spoken during the entire match. Mr. Crouch had apparently never come to claim his seat, which was still sitting empty next to Winky. He looked away from the trembling house elf, and tried to be casual about scanning the top box. He wanted to get another glimpse of the beautiful witch in the top row before she left. He knew he'd likely never see her again, and may not have occasion to see another Veela again for that matter. He saw her and Mr. Delacour standing closer now, apparently waiting to speak to Fudge before they left. Mr. Delacour stood, a small smile on his face waiting patiently. Harry noticed that his companion, however, looked stone-faced. There was a small polite smile on her lips, but Harry could tell there was no feeling behind it, unlike Mr. Delacour's, which was polite, but genuine.

"Try to be a little less obvious why don't you," came Hermione's voice, part scolding, part joking.

Harry's face flushed as he quickly looked away from the French Ambassador and the Veela. He certainly couldn't deny that he'd been staring, caught out like he was, so he settled on silence. As he looked around the box once more, pointedly ignoring Hermione, he noticed more than a few people staring at the silver-haired witch, their conversations forgotten. He stole a quick glance back at her, to see her polite faux-smile still in place. He understood exactly why she had such a look on her face. He wished he could be half as composed when he was under such scrutiny.

Though he wanted to, he made a point of not looking at her again, not wanting to add to her discomfort. The large group around Fudge slowly dwindled as everyone said their goodbyes. Enough people had left so that the Weasley group could finally make their exit. Harry fixed his eyes on Ron's heels as they passed Fudge, who was busy talking to the French ambassador. He partly wanted to avoid the impulse to look at her again, but he also wanted to try and avoid Fudge trying to draw him into a conversation again.

"I look forward to working with you Minister Fudge," Mr. Delacour was saying in barely accented English, as he offered his hand.

"Same to you Ambassador," Fudge said, shaking hands. "We hope to make your transition into the position as smooth as possible."

"Thank you Minister. You must excuse us though. We need to make our way back to the portkey area for the trip home. With everybody leaving at once, we'll be lucky to make it by nightfall."

They turned to leave the box, following just behind Harry as they descended the stairs. Harry was all too aware that the tall beautiful woman he'd been stealing glances at all day was walking right behind him. He tried to act normal, as though he wasn't hyper aware of her presence, but to no avail. He felt as though his body had forgotten how to descend stairs normally, and he was being forced to figure it out on the spot. His arms somehow seemed too long, and his feet felt much too big. He tried his best to follow behind Ron down towards the exit as normally as possible. He heard her talking to Mr. Delacour quietly behind him, though he couldn't understand the language they were using. He wasn't sure if he was just being paranoid, hopeful, or both, but he thought he heard the word 'Potter' in their conversation.

After what seemed like an eternity of awkward agony, they reached the bottom of the long stairwell, and exited into the cool night air. The mass of people leaving the stadium split into smaller groups as they followed their illuminated trail back to their campsites. Harry felt a mixture of relief and dismay when Mr. Delacour and the beautiful witch started down a different, and less populated, path from Harry's own. He glanced over at them one last time as they walked away, trying his best to keep his eyes from straying anywhere indecent. Face burning, he caught back up with his friends, finding he had fallen behind. As he caught up, Ron turned from his conversation with Hermione to include Harry.

"Come on Harry," he said with a frustrated note in his voice. "Tell Hermione that the Wronski Feint isn't just 'irresponsible dangerous flying' and is actually a legitimate move for seekers."

"Well I hadn't seen one before today," Harry said after a little thought, grateful for the distraction."But Ludo Bagman is the one who called it the Wronski Feint, so it must be a real move. It does seem pretty dangerous though."

"See!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes slid out of focus, and his tone took on one similar to Hermione's when she was the one doing the lecturing. "The Wronski Feint isn't the only special move a seeker can do either…"

"I'm surprised you even saw it happen," Hermione muttered to him, a playful smile on her face. Harry glanced quickly over to Ron, hoping his friend hadn't heard her. "As though I would say anything to him about it," Hermione whispered while Ron was listing off all the other 'seeker only' plays in professional Quidditch. "He'd never let you live it down."

"And I expect you will?" Harry asked testily. He had been having a good time overall at the World Cup, but his nerves were starting to get a little frayed.

"Of course," she replied earnestly, "I don't want to actually be mean about it. Veela are _very_ pretty after all. Even without their allure."

"Their what?" Harry tried to ask, but was interrupted by Mr. Weasley as they reached their campsite.

"It's actually close to time for bed," Mr. Weasley shouted as they all gathered in close. Other campsites had begun boisterous victory parties, and the noise level was rapidly climbing. "But, since it's a special occasion, I think another hour or so won't hurt anybody."

The lighthearted mood from the campsites around them was infectious, and soon everybody in camp was laughing at stories of a young Fred and George told by a slightly tipsy Bill. He had apparently snuck a bottle of firewhisky past Mrs. Weasley, and broke it out not long after they had returned to camp. Fred and George attempted to grab the bottle once or twice, but when Bill threatened to tell their Mum when they got home, they gave it up.

Harry felt better than he had all year, sitting around a campfire with his friends while listening to funny stories. He knew he wouldn't soon forget the warm, fuzzy feeling of inclusiveness. It was well into the night before they shuffled off to bed, and though he was having a good time, Harry welcomed the thought of a good night's sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Just wanted to say I appreciate all the reviewers so far. I had forgotten how neat it is to get the notification e-mail that somebody has left a review. Another fun fact is that this story already has more traffic than all my old ones combined. I expect that's largely because HP still has a huge active FF community, but still, it's neat to see that a couple thousand people have checked it out.**

 **dHope you enjoy, as always, feel free to review or PM me with any constructive criticism you may have. One last thought, I don't usually reply directly to reviews in the notes, but I wanted to address one concern that other people may have as well. A guest commented that they enjoyed the antics of mini Krum, but hope I don't start bashing people. I have no desire to start bashing anyone in this fic. I think it makes characters extremely two dimensional to pump up I do recognize that for some fics, that's the point. If anybody feels that I do start to unintentionally bash a character, please let me know. The characters are my focus in this story, and I want to do them justice. Thanks!**

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Harry awoke with a jolt, eyes wide and arms flailing as he was roughly shaken awake. The fog of sleep jumbled his mind, making it difficult to focus. Had he overslept? It had been a long time since he'd made a mistake like that, and the Dursleys would make him pay dearly for it. Gradually, a voice filtered through the haze of confusion, and helped him come fully awake. It was Mr. Weasley, sounding more serious than Harry had ever heard him.

"Sorry Harry," he said quickly, as he bent down to shake Ron awake in the bottom bunk. "Get up quickly! We've got to go."

Harry complied, hopping quickly down from his bunk. He grabbed his glasses, shoes, and threw on the pants he had worn the day before over his pajama bottoms. Ron was moving much more slowly, and only had time to put on shoes before Mr. Weasley hurried them outside behind the twins, who were uncharacteristically somber.

Harry quick steps faltered as he moved out of the tent. The jovial parties at the campsites nearby had turned to a scene of horror. People ran screaming from burning tents as shouts of panic and despair came from all directions. Far off in the direction of the stadium, Harry could see eerie magical lights floating in the sky. There seemed to be a skull flying in the air, something coming from its mouth.

Bill emerged from the tent alongside Charlie and Percy, and followed Harry's gaze over towards the stadium. Bill cursed loudly as recognition set in. He moved over to Mr. Weasley, who was stepping out of the girl's smaller tent with Hermione and Ginny in tow. He waved the other boys over, and they set off down the trampled trail, away from the stadium and its floating skull.

"What's going on?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, who were running along either side of him.

"I heard Dad tell Charlie there was a Dark Mark over the stadium," Ron replied quietly.

"Dark Mark?"

"It's the symbol of you-know-who and his supporters. It means there are Death Eaters here." Ron explained soberly as they ran through camps that had yet to be set ablaze.

Ron had barely finished speaking when a commotion to their right drew Harry's attention. Out of place in the shouts of terror and confusion, came jeering and laughter. Harry involuntarily turned his head towards the campsite where the voices were coming from. From around a burning campsite a short way away from the trail, came two figures in black cloaks and white masks.. They had their wands out, and were pointing them towards the sky. Harry's eyes were dragged up in the direction of their wands, and his stomach roiled at the sight. Floating in the sky were what appeared to be three bodies. Harry couldn't tell who they were, or rather, who they had been. The bodies were burnt beyond recognition, though they danced together in the air as though they were alive.

"Where have you all gone?" One of the masked people called out, his voice somehow, impossibly, familiar. "We were having such fun!"

Harry nearly broke stride at the sight, his mind refusing to comprehend the scene in front of him. Before the shock could stop him, a hard shove on his back kept him moving.

" _Go!"_ Mr. Weasley urged frantically from behind him. The rest of the group had pulled slightly ahead as Harry had slowed down. His admonition spurred Harry forward, breaking his mortified gaze upon the dancing bodies.

The hooded figures didn't notice them as they ran further down the trail toward the shelter of a large grove of trees. As they broke through the treeline, Harry saw they weren't the only ones seeking safety in the woods. As they barreled as a group through the trees, Harry saw a few people cowering as they passed. He saw terrified parents holding their scared, but largely oblivious children.

They crashed through the underbrush until they no longer saw quite as many people hiding in the nearby trees. Mr. Weasley gestured from them all to slow down as he scanned the area around them as best he could. Harry doubled over, clutching a stitch in his side.

" _Lumos,"_ came Mr. Weasley's voice from the semi-darkness, followed by a bright light from the tip of his wand. The sudden light forced Harry to cover his eyes. "Everybody here?" he asked frantically, as he did a quick headcount. His shoulders sagged in relief as he let out a sigh.

"We should be helping the Ministry catch them," Bill said, wand in hand. Percy and Charlie both nodded agreement with their brother. "We can't let them kill anyone else."

" _I_ should, perhaps," Mr. Weasley corrected. He looked stonily at the three eldest Weasley siblings for a moment before speaking again. "Your hearts are all in the right place..." He trailed off as he looked each one in the eye in turn, before settling his gaze upon Bill. "You were eleven when Voldemort lost power, and you were thirteen before the last of the Death Eater raids finally stopped. You're most likely to remember how the world was during that time, and the horror that followed a Dark Mark."

Bill nodded, his face having gone slightly ashen, making his multitude of freckles stand out in the wandlight. "That doesn't mean we should let those two get away with what they've done," Bill pressed on.

Mr. Weasley stared at his eldest son for a moment, the conflict evident on his face. "Everybody," he finally said, turning to the rest of the group, "wands out, eyes and ears open. Run from danger, not towards it. Watch out for each other." He turned back to Bill, Charlie, and Percy. "You two," he said to Charlie and Percy, "keep everyone safe. Bill, let's go."

As Bill and Mr. Weasley hurried back towards the burning campsites and the screams, the rest of them did as they were instructed, and got their wands ready. Harry frantically patted the pockets of his pants, panic rising in him like bile. He couldn't find his wand. A feeling of vulnerability washed over him like ice water.

"I've lost my wand!"

"Bad time for a joke mate," Ron said weakly, though he cast a _lumos_ of his own, and began searching the ground nearby.

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket while we were running?" Hermione suggested, her voice trembling.

"Maybe…" Harry replied, looking at the ground where Ron's light shone, though he held no real hope that he would see anything there.

"When do you last remember having it?" Fred asked, joining the hunt for Harry's wand.

"I grabbed it when we left to go to the stadium to watch the match. I haven't needed it since then," he said, trying to remember when he last remembered actually seeing it.

"Maybe you left it in the tent," Ginny suggested, "from when you got ready for bed."

"I don't think…" but Harry was cut off by renewed shouts of fright from the people they had passed. A dull green light began to filter through the canopy, but though through the dense foliage, they couldn't see what it was.

" _Reducto,"_ Charlie whispered, causing a sizable hole to appear in the leaves. Floating high in the sky, glittering green, was a massive skull with a large snake for a tongue.

"Dad...Bill," Ginny whimpered, her eyes fixed on the sky.

"The Dark Mark," whispered Hermione her face pale in the eerie green glow.

"Come on," directed Charlie, "you heard Dad. Let's keep moving. Stick together."

They set off once more through the thick trees, their path lit by small columns of green light as the nightmarish skull peered through the canopy above. Large roots would occasionally trip one of them up, but they managed to stay together. They were occasionally passed by other groups fleeing the Dark Mark, but nobody that seemed intent on causing more harm. The woods they were in were larger than Harry had expected, and it took them quite a while to make it through to the other side. The dense canopy had covered the Dark Mark almost as soon as they had begun walking again. Although he knew it was still there, Harry felt a little better without it's shining empty sockets staring down on them.

The trees began to thin after an hour of difficult trailblazing, and the sounds of voices began to filter through. As they grew near the treeline, Charlie motioned for them to stop walking as he scanned the open field in front of them. Dozens of large glowing squares dotted the field in front of them. Harry saw a family that had exited the woods ahead of them be led to one of the squares by a witch with a Ministry badge pinned to her robes.

"What's going on?" Ron whispered as he too surveyed the scene.

"Ministry procedure after an attack requires the set up of these warded safe zones," Percy answered. "They provide a protected area for non-Ministry individuals to take shelter, find loved ones, and receive any healing they may require. With all the foreign attention on the World Cup, especially this year, I expect they don't want to be seen mishandling the situation."

"How do you even know that?" one of the twins asked. "You're not a part of the DMLE."

"Not now," Percy replied, though without the long-suffering tone he usually adopted, "but someday I may be. Better to be over prepared than under prepared."

Before either of the twins had the chance to reply, Charlie spoke up.

"I see Bill," he said, relief thick in his voice. He stepped out into the clearing, and waved his hands over his head.

"You're here!" came Bill's voice from nearby. Everybody turned as they followed Charlie out of the woods, to see him jogging towards them. "Lucky I found you guys now. Saves us the trouble of having to search through all the safe areas." He gestured for everyone to follow him as he began walking back the way he came. "Dad's back over this way, they had him finding and helping some of the fleeing campers into the warded areas."

They hadn't walked far when they caught sight of Mr. Weasley as part of a small group that was standing huddled together. As they approached, Harry recognized two of the three people Mr. Weasley was with. Mr. Diggory and Mr. Bagman both stood quietly as the third person was speaking. Harry didn't recognize the third person, a well dressed man with straight hair and a small mustache.

"That's Mr. Crouch," Hermione whispered to Harry as they approached.

The conversation broke off abruptly as they approached. The four adults all turned to them, their gazes settling on Harry. The apprehension on Mr. Weasley's face, coupled with the stern visage of Mr. Crouch put Harry on edge. Mr. Diggory and Mr. Bagman both looked to Mr. Crouch, then back to Harry, though neither said anything. After a moment, Mr. Crouch stepped towards Harry, offering him something he held in his hand.

"I've been told," he said in a clipped tone of disapproval, "that this belongs to you Mr. Potter."

Harry could only stare in shock at the offered item. He had been certain he had seen the last of his wand, and now this man was handing it back to him.

"How is this possible, sir?" Harry asked finally, as he took his wand back gratefully.

"How indeed," Mr. Crouch replied, the disapproval still heavy in his tone, though now laced with anger. "How is it that a Death Eater came to possess your wand Mr. Potter? We verified it was your wand that cast the second Dark Mark."

"I…" Harry trailed off. Everybody standing there was looking at him as he stood in the middle of the large group. It felt uncomfortably like he was on trial. "I don't know sir," he managed to get out, his eyes on the ground in shame. "I misplaced my wand today. I don't know when. I'm sorry."

Mr. Crouch scrutinized Harry some more before speaking, drawing out the silence. "You are _very_ lucky Mr. Potter," he said finally.

"Yes sir," Harry said automatically, but Mr. Crouch talked over him.

"You are lucky that Arthur here recognized your wand," he said, his disapproval turning completely to anger. "You are lucky that an Auror was able to disarm the Death Eater carrying your wand before the two of them Disapparated, and you are _very_ lucky that you weren't anywhere near your wand when the Dark Mark went up, or we would be having this discussion in a Ministry courtroom right now."

"Barty," Mr. Weasley said placatingly.

"Don't 'Barty' me Arthur," Mr. Crouch retorted angrily. "Without a wand that Death Eater wouldn't have been able to torture and kill those muggles." He glowered down at Harry, whose eyes were fixed on a pebble at his feet. "The Muggles were _not_ so lucky."

Harry wished that he could vanish into a hole in the ground and stay there. His mind flashed back to the corpses dancing in the sky over the ruined campsites. His wand had done that?

"That's more than enough," Mr. Weasley cut in, surprising Harry steel in his voice. He shot a look over at Bill, who had been about to protest as well. "As I was saying before, that Death Eater would have found a wand regardless of whether Harry's was available or not. And I'm positive that you're not suggesting that Harry Potter is a Death Eater."

Mr. Crouch seemed to calm slightly at Mr. Weasleys words, even though Harry had fully expected the stern man to get even angrier. He couldn't really blame the man, he was right. Those people wouldn't have been killed if he'd been more attentive to his wand.

Mr. Weasley stepped away from the group, and next to Harry, his tone friendly again. "It's very late, the Death Eaters have fled, and the Ministry has everything under control. If I'm not needed, we'll be going back to our tents now to get some sleep before the portkey in the morning."

Before Mr. Crouch could reply, Mr. Weasley led them away, following a path that led around the wooded area, back towards their campsite. As they walked, they saw one of the safe zones filled with the Veela who had been with the Bulgarian Quidditch team. The group of women seemed downtrodden, even for the somber mood that had settled over the area.

"I heard some of the Ministry healers saying the larger group of Death Eaters got hold of a few of the Veela," Mr. Weasley said in an undertone to Bill, who was looking concernedly at the Veela, his eyes a little unfocused. "A few of them were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse before the mark went up over the stadium. They said one of them didn't make it."

"How could they do something like that?" Ginny asked, her face pale.

Mr. Weasley didn't answer right away as they continued on, leaving the mourning Veela behind them. "Some people believe Veela are only part-human," Mr. Weasley began. "It's no secret that the Death Eaters are intolerant of anybody who isn't a 'pureblood' witch or wizard. Because of that view, anyone that doesn't fit that category is not what they consider a 'person'. To them it's like squashing ants beneath your boot."

Silence followed Mr. Weasley's explanation, and continued until they neared the camp, which suited Harry just fine. He couldn't shake the miserable guilty feeling that Mr. Crouch's words had instilled in him. If he hadn't lost his wand, would those Muggles still be alive? Would the Death Eater have been caught trying to steal somebody else's wand? The thoughts swirled through Harry's mind as they passed by ruined campsites near to where their tents stood.

To everybody's surprise, their tents still stood, only one of a few nearby that had escaped burning or trampling. Nobody spoke as Hermione and Ginny split off to their tent as they boys filed into theirs. Harry and Mr. Weasley brought up the rear, waiting their turn to go inside. As Ron stepped inside, Mr. Weasley stopped Harry, the two of them the only ones left outside. Harry turned to face him, bracing for whatever Mr. Weasley had to say. He knew he had made a huge mistake, but hoped against hope that Mr. Weasley wouldn't be too hard on him.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley began, far gentler than Harry had been expecting. "What happened tonight..." Harry tensed, readying himself for the chastisement, "it isn't your fault."

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it wasn't that. He couldn't help but look up at Mr. Weasley in surprise. The older man was smiling gently down at him, compassion evident in his features. Harry looked quickly back down at the ground, unable to meet Mr. Weasley's kind eyes. He had expected to at least be chastised, if not disciplined. He had been worried that Mr. Weasley would tell him he wasn't allowed to come back to the Burrow. That they didn't allow people who let others get killed stay with them. He certainly hadn't expected to consoled, even if what Mr. Weasley was saying didn't make much sense to him

"I can see you don't believe me," Mr. Weasley said after a moment, "and that's okay. It will take time to understand why I'm saying it isn't your fault, but you will understand eventually." He paused, letting Harry digest his words a little before continuing. "Until that time, Molly and I are here for you if you need to talk about it."

Harry's throat tightened and his eyes burned fiercely at the kind words he didn't deserve. His thoughts were swirling with conflicting emotions that kept him from replying. He merely nodded, trying to keep the tears from spilling down his face. He didn't think he could bear the shame of Mr. Weasley seeing him cry after everything that had happened on top of that.

"Off to bed then," Mr. Weasley said gently, "it may be hard to sleep, but at least try to get some rest. We'll take an early portkey back to the Burrow. I'll be staying with the girls if you need me." Harry nodded again, and fled into the tent.

Sleep abandoned Harry that night, the events of the evening replaying on a loop in his mind. Every time he almost drifted off, the image of the dancing bodies would flash through his mind, jolting him awake. He hadn't managed to get any sleep by the time Mr. Weasley came and woke them. Silence reigned as everybody quickly packed their bags. Harry triple checked to make sure he had his wand in his pocket, before throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

Once everyone was assembled outside by the remains of their campfire, Mr. Weasley waved his wand, directing the tents to fold and pack themselves away into the open bags at his feet. It was hard for Harry to imagine that just the day before Mr. Weasley had been excitedly erecting their tent 'the Muggle way'.

The walk to the portkey area seemed much shorter to Harry than it had when they arrived, preoccupied as he was. He felt as though they had only just left camp when the roped off circles came into view. They were once again given the dirty boot, which almost instantly pulled them into the bizarre space of the portkey, before depositing them on the hill just outside Ottery St. Catchpole.

Another seemingly brief walk later, the Burrow came into sight down the path, with a lone figure standing out front. As soon as they were noticed, Mrs. Weasley came running down the path, her nightdress held up out of the way. Mr. Weasley dropped the bags he was carrying as she neared, and held his arms out wide.

"Oh Arthur!" she wailed into his chest as she barreled into him. "I was so worried. The paper came this morning but didn't give any real details. Besides the D-Dark Mark…" she trailed off with a sob before turning to the rest of the exhausted group. "I'm so glad you're all okay," she said with a watery smile. Her tears redoubled when her gaze settled on Fred and George, who were standing in the back. " _Boys_ ," she said thickly, gesturing them to her, and grabbing them in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry," she stammered out. "I'm so sorry I shouted at you the other night. I thought it might've been one of the last things I ever got to say to you."

"It's okay Mum," one of them said against her shoulder.

"You only shout at us if we deserve it," said the other, his light tone betrayed by his tight grip around his mother.

"Let's all get inside," Mr. Weasley interjected after a moment. "We can get cleaned up, and back to bed."

Fatigue finally caught up to Harry as he lay in his bunk in Ron's room. After getting cleaned up, and a quick bite to eat from an insistent Mrs. Weasley, Harry found that he could barely stand. His lack of sleep was finally catching up to him, having only slept five or six hours in the past two days. He fell asleep the moment he fell into his bunk, fully clothed, his exhaustion keeping his mind from torturing him with visions of the dancing corpses.

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It was a slow, quiet week that passed at the Burrow. The first few days after the cup were almost silent affairs, most everybody keeping to themselves except for mealtimes. Mr. Weasley and Percy were gone most of the time to the Ministry, only appearing back at the Burrow late in the evening with more details on what some woman named 'Rita Skeeter' was writing about the Ministry. Harry tried to stay out of the room when she was discussed, as her vitriolic articles infuriated Mrs. Weasley. There was finally a break in the somber mood when Bill and Charlie challenged Ron, Harry, Fred and George to a modified version of Quidditch for fewer people. Harry had initially been reluctant, but the thought of finally being back on his broom lifted his spirits for the first time since they had returned.

They all went out to a small field behind the house, which had two large wooden quidditch hoops, made gray with age. A small copse behind one hoop offered a place for Ginny and Hermione to sit, the latter, predictably, with a large book in hand. There was no snitch for Harry to catch in the modified game, where everyone was basically a chaser, but he didn't mind. The wind seemed to blow his problems away as he sped around the Burrow on his Firebolt. Movement by a large tree near their game caught his eye as he missed yet another goal on Bill and Charlie's hoop. He saw Ginny standing, her eyes trained on the quaffle, while Hermione sat, her back against a tree, absorbed in her reading. Harry knew Hermione didn't care for Quidditch much at all, but he expected Ginny was wishing they had a broom for her as well.

Harry sped off towards the ground, ignoring Ron's protest of surprise. He landed gracefully on the ground next to the two girls. Ginny looked surprisedly up at him, a rosy tint to her cheeks. He was glad to see the days of her turning scarlet and hiding when he came near seemed to be over.

"Want a go?" he asked, offering his broom to her. Hermione looked up when he spoke, but promptly buried her nose back in the book in her hands.

Ginny reached out hesitantly towards his Firebolt, her eyes wide and full of longing.

"What are you doing?" Ron called from in front of their hoops, where Bill was currently attempting to score a goal. "With a broom that fast she'll probably smash it into the side of the house…" Ron's comment was cut off as a red streak intercepted Bill's shot from between him and Ron. Harry blinked in surprise, he hadn't even noticed her mount the broom. Seconds later, the quaffle soared past Charlie and through the hoop on the far end of the field. Ginny pivoted in midair after her shot, shooting a very rude salute back to Ron.

"Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley shouted from the back door, a scandalized note in her voice. "Making Ron eat his words should be quite enough without the vulgarity!"

"Mum!" Ron called out indignantly over the laughs of his siblings.

"Lunch will be ready in ten minutes, so wrap it up. I've just got back from Diagon Alley with your school supplies. They're on the table for you," Mrs. Weasley said before stepping back into the house. In the short time they had left, Ginny managed to score three more goals on her oldest brothers.

"Thanks," she said as she handed the Firebolt back to Harry. She tried to pat down her long hair that had been tangled by the wind. "What a rush that is. I'm jealous you get to fly that thing in proper Quidditch matches."

"You aren't the only one," Ron said good-naturedly, as they crossed the threshold into the house.

Mrs. Weasley had placed plates of corned beef sandwiches in front of stacks of books, robes, and other school supplies she had picked up for everybody. Ron ignored his sandwich as he stared at a strange garment that was sitting atop his pile.

"What is _this_?" he asked as he held up a frightfully ugly maroon velvet dress. Harry wasn't sure whether to be impressed by the amount of lace and frills on it, or repulsed. "Did you give me Ginny's dress by mistake Mum?"

Ginny looked mortified at the thought of having to wear the garment, and looked to Mrs. Weasley for an answer.

"Of course not Ron," Mrs. Weasley said as she placed a large pitcher of water on the table that promptly floated in the air, and began filling everyone's glass. "Those are your dress robes for this year. It was on your required school purchases."

Ron looked back to the robes in his hands, before laying them back on the table. "I think I'd rather be seen in my underwear."

"You do that then," Mrs. Weasley replied testily, "everyone else will have dress robes on, so I'm sure you won't stick out without them. Don't be ridiculous Ron."

Ron angrily tossed the ugly clothes back on his things, but didn't say anything else, opting instead to sulk as he ate his sandwich. Harry eyed an unopened box on his pile of books that likely held his own set of dress robes. He discreetly moved the box off the top of his things, and slid it under his school books.

After lunch, everybody squeezed up the stairs with their supplies, depositing them in their trunks. Harry and Ron had mostly finished packing, though Ron's packing consisted of just tossing most of his things haphazardly inside. Harry hadn't had much opportunity to unpack, only needing in his trunk for a change of clothes. Putting their books in the trunks seemed to drive home to Harry just how close they were to going back to Hogwarts. He loved spending time at the Burrow with Hermione and the Weasleys, but Hogwarts was where he felt truly at home. Even though he had annual brushes with death, there was no place he'd rather be. He hoped that this year's excitement had already been expended at the World Cup, and he could enjoy a normal year for once.

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It was a normal Weasley departure for King's Cross the next morning. Only Ron, Harry, and Hermione had packed their trunks the day before, and were waiting by the door for Ginny and the twins to finish packing.

"We're leaving in five minutes!" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs. "If you aren't down here ready to go, we're leaving without you!"

Ginny came hurrying down the stairs before Mrs. Weasley had finished her threat, but it was another four minutes before Fred and George made it downstairs. Mrs. Weasley eyed them suspiciously, but was forced to let it go by a glance at the clock.

"Arthur is at work again, and the Ministry couldn't spare any vehicles for us, so we will have to go to King's Cross by Muggle taxi." she explained as Charlie and Bill helped carry all the trunks out the front door to where a couple taxis were waiting patiently.

Harry had never ridden in a taxi before, but he suspected they weren't meant for six large trunks and two owl cages. The ride was cramped and uncomfortable, made all the more unbearable by Pigwidgeon's incessant screeching. He was glad to arrive at King's Cross, not only to get out of the noisy, cramped vehicle, but because it meant he was only a few hours away from being at Hogwarts. He loaded his trunk, Firebolt, and Hedwig's cage onto a trolley, and followed his friends to platform nine and three quarters. Harry and Ron went first through the barrier as Mrs. Weasley paid the taxi drivers, so Hedwig and Pig were out of sight of the Muggles as quickly as possible.

They maneuvered their luggage through the crowd around the Hogwarts Express, and onto the train, finding their own empty compartment to store their things. Once situated, they hopped back down to the platform to say goodbye to Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley. Ginny ran over to give Bill and Charlie a hug goodbye, Ron following close behind.

"See you soon," Charlie said with a wink as he let go of his sister.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, looking puzzled.

"You'll see," Charlie said in a tone clearly meant to rankle. "Just don't tell Percy I was talking about his 'classified information'." Before anybody could question him, the first whistle sounded, indicating the train was leaving soon.

"Better get going," Bill said, waving goodbye. "I may get some time off so I can come see it too." He shot a grin over at Charlie, who was laughing quietly.

" _See what?"_ asked Fred and George in unison.

"Get going you lot," Mrs. Weasley cut in, shooing them towards the train. "We didn't make it to King's Cross on time just to have you miss the train while you're standing right next to it. Go on!"

Fred and George glared at Bill and Charlie, who were outright laughing, and reluctantly boarded the Express.

"Behave you two!" Mrs. Weasley called after them as the Express blew it's last call whistle.

"Can't hear you Mum!" Fred called back, head sticking out a window as the train began to creep forward.

"Oh yes you can!" she yelled back, as the train picked up speed. "I mean it!"

Harry watched as Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley all waved, growing smaller as the train picked up speed. He let out a sigh of relief as he sunk into one of the seats in their compartment. His difficult summer was finally over. He was on his way back to Hogwarts.

"I'm getting real tired of all this 'top secret' stuff," Ron groused as he took a seat next to Harry. "Percy wouldn't shut up about it, Ludo Bagman mentioned it two or three times before Mr. Crouch yelled at him about it, and now Bill and Charlie are bringing it up."

"If it's really important," Hermione said, settling into her own seat across from them, "I'm sure Dumbledore will tell us what's going on at the opening feast."

They sat in silence for a time, Hermione reading 'Hogwarts: A History' as was her custom, and Ron looking out the the darkening sky. Harry had closed his eyes in an attempt to take a nap, when a voice floated in from the corridor that instantly put him on edge. He had hoped that they wouldn't have their annual Express visit from Malfoy and his cronies this year. He knew they wouldn't have the good fortune of Malfoy passing their compartment by, and he was proven correct when their compartment door flung open with a sneering Malfoy standing on the other side.

"Did you enjoy the World Cup?" He drawled, as he stepped into the compartment, flanked, as always, by his mammoth friends, Crabbe and Goyle. He looked over at Ron, who was making a lousy attempt at ignoring him. "It was a surprise to see you in the top box Weasley. I didn't realize they were giving out charity seats to the less fortunate. Must've been a real treat to bump shoulders with the elite members of various magical societies, even if it was the only chance you'll have."

"Stuff it Malfoy," Ron said through clenched teeth.

"Surely you have somewhere else you can waste your time," Hermione added testily over her fourth year spell book.

"Lucky that you managed to keep that bushy head of yours down at the Cup, Granger," Malfoy sneered at her, "I expect the Death Eaters there would have loved to meet a Mudblood who was unable to keep her dirty mouth shut."

"Lucky for you your father wasn't caught playing dress up," Ron replied, abandoning all pretence of ignoring Malfoy.

Malfoy smiled infuriatingly at Ron. "I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking about Weasley." He turned his unfriendly smile on Harry. "I was right about you in our first year Potter, you _did_ need help picking your friends."

"So you could show him how to pick friends that are as big as mountains and as dumb as the rocks they're made of? I think he's better off without your help Malfoy," Ron shot back, getting to his feet.

"Letting your friends do all your fighting for you, huh Potter?" Malfoy said, ignoring Ron, who was growing redder by the minute in anger.

"That's pretty rich coming from you," Harry shot back, getting to his feet next to Ron. "Get lost, before we make you leave."

"We'll go get prefects, and have them force you out. You may get detentions before school even starts," Hermione joined in, setting her book on the seat next to her.

"Rules won't save you forever mudblood," Draco sneered, his smile having vanished. Before any of them could retort, he waved his hand at Crabbe and Goyle, and they departed, laughing as they went.

"Worthless slimy bastard," Ron growled as he slammed the compartment door shut. His face had turned such a deep shade of red it looked as though he would either catch fire, or pop.

His mind was taken off the subject of Malfoy when the snack cart came around. It had become a bit of a ritual for him to purchase a chocolate frog every year to eat on the Express. It reminded him of his first ride on the scarlet train, when he had first met Ron. He purchased three from the old woman who pushed the cart, and offered one to each of his friends, as he always did. Hermione thanked him, and Ron accepted his without comment, though he seemed to relax a bit when he took a bite of the enchanted chocolate.

A fierce storm had begun by the time the Express began to slow as it entered Hogsmeade station. Thunder boomed overhead as the students began filing off the train and into the downpour. As he stepped off the train, Harry saw a glow of a lantern that silhouetted a massive figure in the dark.

"Hagrid!" Harry called out, waving, trying to be heard over the storm, and the other students.

"Alrigh' Harry?" Hagrid bellowed over the thunder, "See yeh at the feast, if we don't drown crossing the lake! Ah come on now," Hagrid said, thumping a small first-year on the back with one of his giant hands, "don' cry. I was only jokin'."

"Thank goodness it wasn't like this on our first year," Hermione said as they walked, pulling her robes tighter against her. Harry followed suit with a shiver. He wished he'd thought to grab a cloak out of his trunk before leaving the train. It was slow going as the horseless carriages began carrying students up to the school. Harry, Hermione, and Ron all hopped into a carriage when their turn came, followed by a shivering Neville Longbottom.

"Can't imagine going across the lake in this mess," Neville said by way of hello through chattering teeth. Their carriage lurched forward, and splashed down the path up to Hogwarts.

As each group disembarked from their carriage, they ran through the massive front doors to the entrance hall, where they were met by Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick. Both professors were drying off students with a wave of their wands, and directing them into the Great Hall.

Once Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all dried off, they took their seats at the Gryffindor table with a sigh of relief. The Great Hall buzzed with conversation as students caught up with their friends about their summer holidays. Harry was unsurprised to hear various mentions of the World Cup, and Rita Skeeter's awful articles. Whenever he heard someone mention the World Cup, he still felt a pang of guilt, though the feeling had lessened a bit with time. Whenever he felt really upset about it, he tried to recall Mr. Weasley's kind words. He trusted Mr. Weasley, and did his best to find comfort in his words, even if they were sometimes hard to believe.

The conversations slowly died out when Professor McGonagall strode in from the entry hall, leading a mass of shivering first-years behind her. Harry recalled his first year, when he had been one of the small children shivering behind the foreboding transfiguration professor. Though his shaking had been from nerves, rather than rain. As the Sorting Hat sang, Harry snuck a look at the first-years. Most of them had awestruck looks on their faces, their attention focused on the magical hat.

Harry's stomach growled as they waited through the sorting. The chocolate frogs were nice, but not the least bit filling, and a hot meal after being out in the rain sounded like exactly what he needed. After what seemed like ages, the ceremony was over, and the tables were filled with food. Harry and Ron filled their plates quickly, and almost as quickly emptied them again. Hermione seemed equal parts impressed and disgusted by the speed that they were eating.

"The food won't vanish before you've had your fill," she said as Ron loaded up a second helping.

"Not taking any chances," Ron said through a mouthful of bread.

After his first plate, Harry slowed down a little. He finally felt as though things were back as they should be. He had a full year of school ahead of him, surrounded by other magical students. He enjoyed his time at the Weasleys, but there was nowhere else in the world that made him feel like he belonged like Hogwarts.

Professor Dumbledore stood as the food finally vanished, his hands up asking for quiet.

"I have a few announcements to make before you retire to your warm, dry beds. To our first-years, please be advised that the forest is out-of-bounds to all students, as is Hogsmeade to those students below third year." Dumbledore paused, looking around the room before speaking again. Harry was almost sure Dumbledore's gaze had lingered on him for a moment. "Also, it is my unfortunate duty to announce that the Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year."

This announcement was met by an uproar of disapproval from the majority of the student body, and Harry felt his heart sink. There was nothing he enjoyed more than flying on his broom. His year would feel incomplete without Quidditch.

Dumbledore stood quietly, allowing the complaints to die out before speaking again. "I know many of you are disappointed by this news, however, it is not without reason that we have canceled Quidditch for the year. Before we get to that though, there is one other thing we must cover. We are all regretful that Professor Lupin had to leave us at the end of last term…" At these words, Harry looked over to where Snape was sitting at the staff table, who looked very nearly gleeful that Lupin had departed. "But we have managed to secure another teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year," Dumbledore continued.

As Dumbledore finished, the doors to the Great Hall swung open dramatically. A clap of thunder and lightning silhouette a hunched figure in the doorway. Murmurs followed the figure as he made his way slowly up to the staff table. Every other step was punctuated by a loud _clunk_ on the stone floor. As he passed, Harry saw that the man had a false leg, and more astoundingly, a massive false eye that spun wildly in all directions. The strange man shook Dumbledore's hand when he reached the staff table, and took a seat at the only empty chair.

"It is my great pleasure to introduce to you, Professor Alastor Moody," Dumbledore announced as he began to applaud. A smattering of applause joined in with Dumbledore before dying out quickly.

"My final announcement," Dumbledore said finally into the silence, "and the reason we must cancel Quidditch, is that we are to have the honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year at Hogwarts!"

"That's what they were all talking about," Ron said at the same time that Fred and George both yelled out, "You're joking!"

"Certainly not," Dumbledore replied to Fred and George with a chuckle. "For those who are not aware, the Triwizard Tournament is a prestigious competition between the three largest European schools of witchcraft and wizardry: Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and of course, Hogwarts. Each school will have a champion represent them in three difficult tasks.

"Many hundreds of years ago, the Tournament was held regularly as a way to foster cooperation and friendship between the young witches and wizards of different nationalities. Unfortunately, the death toll of the tournament grew too high, and it was discontinued. As an unfortunate side effect, we have grown distant from our partner schools and their peoples."

Harry goggled up at Professor Dumbledore as he spoke. He knew Hogwarts was occasionally dangerous, but hosting a deadly tournament seemed downright irresponsible. Harry wasn't the only one to think so, as muttering had broken out amongst the student body.

Dumbledore spoke quickly over the murmurs, "Please rest easy knowing that, thanks to a significant effort in foreign relations from our departments of International Magical Cooperation, and Magical Games and Sports, we have been able to engineer a tournament that will most certainly _not_ include such significant and constant mortal peril."

"In October, we will be hosting the Headmistress and Headmaster of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, along with a small delegation of possible champions from each school. The selection of the three champions will take place on Halloween. The winner of the tournament will receive, not only the Triwizard cup and glory for their school, but also a one thousand Galleon prize."

At the mention of prize money, and such a significant amount, the Great Hall burst into speculative conversation. Dumbledore quieted the students once more before continuing.

"I am sure that many of you desire to compete for Hogwarts, however, there have been some necessary restrictions agreed upon and implemented by the three schools and the Ministry. We will be imposing an age limit of seventeen years and older upon the applicants who wish to compete. This measure," he continued, hands up in an attempt to pacify the cries of outrage, "is for the safety of the participating champions. We have worked tirelessly to ensure there will be little mortal danger during these tasks, but due to the nature of the tournament, there will still be significant personal risk for those involved. We believe it unlikely that any student below the age of seventeen would be able to successfully navigate the tasks we have prepared.

"The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students will remain with us for the majority of the school year. I _know_ that you will be most hospitable and gracious to our foreign guests during their time with us. And now, it is late, and I have imposed upon your evening long enough. Prefects, please escort your houses to their dormitories."

The students stood as Dumbledore sat back down, most complaining about how unfair the rules were. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all followed the Gryffindors out the of the Great Hall.

"A thousand Galleons," Ron wondered aloud, a wistful look upon his face, "can you imagine…"

"You won't have to imagine little brother," grumbled one of the twins from behind them, "Fred and I will figure out a way to enter."

"You think you can outsmart Dumbledore?" Hermione asked disapprovingly.

"We'll figure something out," Fred replied, "I doubt he'll be the ones picking the champions.

Fred and George brainstormed ideas the whole way up to Gryffindor tower, and split off from the rest of the group after climbing through the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Hermione bid Harry and Ron goodnight before going up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. They followed Neville tiredly up the stairs to the boys' dorm at the top. Harry's full stomach and the warmth coming from the fireplace in their room made him instantly drowsy. It wasn't long after climbing into bed that he was fast asleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning found Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sitting at breakfast, discussing their new schedules when the rustling of feathers broke their conversation. As Harry looked up at the mass of owls, he was struck by a sudden realization. He suddenly felt foolish. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to write Sirius. His Godfather would want to know everything that had happened at the World Cup, if he didn't know already. He made a mental note to visit the owlery later in the evening to deliver his letter. He had enjoyed having Hedwig around during the summer, but he knew she was happiest when she was delivering letters, and would be glad for the trip.

Their first class of the year was Herbology with Professor Sprout. Neville was bouncing with excitement all the way to the greenhouses, though his excitement was diminished when they arrived to find ugly slugs at their workstations. After a disgusting lesson on collecting Bubotuber pus, the Gryffindors split from the Hufflepuffs they shared Herbology with, and walked as a group down to Hagrid's hut. Harry was not hopeful about his second class of the year. He was very fond of Hagrid, but the half-giant's lessons were typically at least a little dangerous. Harry's worries proved to be justified as they approached what appeared to be several wooden crates that held small explosions.

"Mornin' you three!" Hagrid said with a grin, "you lot ready to learn abou' Blast-Ended Skrewts?"

"Learn about what now?" Ron asked, glancing nervously at the crates.

Hagrid gestured to an open crate, where what seemed to be hundreds of strange creatures climbed all over each other. Harry grimaced at the bizarre slimy creatures, hoping the lesson on the Skrewts was a one time thing, but he had a feeling that wasn't going to be the case. It wasn't long before his assumption was proved correct. The Slytherins showed up a few minutes later, and Hagrid began the lesson by grabbing one of the creatures.

"These are Blast-Ended Skrewts," he said loudly, holding it up for the assembled students to see. Most of them recoiled from the creature. "They jus' hatched a few days ago, and I thought yeh all could raise 'em. Bit of a class project!"

"Why on _earth_ would we want to do that?" Malfoy sneered from his place at the back of the group. Most of the Slytherins chuckled, and even a few of the Gryffindors seemed to share his opinion.

"'Cause yeh want ter pass my class Malfoy," Hagrid replied coolly before replacing his Skrewt in the box. "You'll just be feedin' 'em today." He gestured to some buckets on the ground. "I've got a few things for ya to try out. I'm no' exactly sure what they like, so try a little of everythin'."

After being stung, burned, and bitten through the rest of the lesson, it was an irritated group that returned to the Great Hall for lunch.

"I know Hagrid likes some weird stuff" Ron said as he loaded a plate, "but this might take the cake. I have no idea what he sees in them."

"I expect they're useful somehow," Hermione said as she too grabbed a plate of food. "Everything he's shown us has some sort of magical application, no matter how strange."

"Better be something good," grumbled Harry, nursing a bright red burn on his hand.

"Madam Pomfrey could take care of that you know," Hermione said as Harry rubbed the injury, wincing.

"If I show up to the hospital wing on the very first day of school," Harry said with a wry smile, "she'd probably find a way to have me expelled for wasting so much of her time."

"Fixing you up isn't a waste of her time," Hermione replied quietly with a frown.

"It's just a joke Hermione, lighten up," Ron interjected. Hermione shot him a glare, and ate her lunch in silence.

Harry and Ron struggled through their extra long Divination lesson, where Professor Trelawney predicted Harry's demise no less than five times. Harry's stomach grumbled, the long, dreary lesson lasting until dinnertime. They met up with Hermione on the way back to the Great Hall, who had apparently decided to speak to Ron again. They passed by Professor Moody, who was lurking near the entrance to the Great Hall, his magical eye swivelling around to look at all the students passing by. Ron shuddered as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"That eye of his gives me the creeps. Dad says Mad-Eye was the best Auror the Ministry every had, but he's had to take care of so many dark wizards, that he's gone a little off his rocker."

"I expect anyone would be a little off if they've seen the things he probably has," Harry remarked.

"Too right," said Fred as he sat down, Lee Jordan and George following suit.

"Off his rocker, sure, but he's brilliant," said Lee, "we've only just left his class."

"What was it like?" Harry asked eagerly. He hoped the Defence class would be half as good as last years had been with Professor Lupin.

"Unlike any other lesson you've ever been to," said George, the awe clear in his voice. "He's definitely a little off, but he knows what he's doing."

After dinner, Harry retired early to his dorm to write his reply to Sirius. He hoped to get it finished before Hedwig left on her nightly hunt. Using the small table next to his bed as a writing desk, he pulled out some parchment, ink, and a quill. He twirled the quill around his fingers as he tried to decide what to include in the letter. He'd never written to Sirius before, and he didn't know what Sirius might know about what happened at the World Cup. According to his last letter, he was staying somewhere very far away.

 _Sirius,_

 _I got your letter, but have only just now had the chance to reply. Sorry for taking so long. You were right that I can't get letters at my Aunt and Uncle's house. They don't care for magic, and they especially don't like having an owl in the house. Thanks for taking care of her for me._

Harry paused, deciding what exactly he wanted to convey about the World Cup. He quickly decided that if Sirius didn't already know, he would find out eventually, and there wasn't much point in hiding anything from his Godfather.

 _I'm not sure if you heard, but there was an attack at the World Cup. I was there with my friend Ron's family when it happened. There were two Dark Marks put in the sky by a bunch of Death Eaters and they killed some people too. It sounded like they were chased off by the Ministry before they could do a lot of damage, but it was enough to really scare people._

 _Also, the Triwizard Tournament is happening at Hogwarts this year. Dumbledore just announced it tonight. There are going to be two other schools coming to visit soon and participate in the tournament. I never thought there would be other magical schools, though I suppose it makes sense. Are there any others besides Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang? They cancelled Quidditch this year because of the tournament, so I won't get to fly the Firebolt you got me much at all this year._

 _Take care and stay safe,_

 _Harry_

Harry had decided not to tell Sirius about what had happened with his wand. It felt as though it were somehow more 'real' to put it down on parchment in words, and he was busy trying to forget it ever happened. Curfew came and went as he was writing his letter, but he didn't want to wait for the morning to send the letter. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map, heading through the deserted hallways towards the owlery.

As he walked the halls, he was certain he passed a few couples reuniting in hidden spaces and empty classrooms. He had gotten used to it, as he did quite a lot of after-curfew walking around with his invisibility cloak. The desire to indulge his curiosity, and see who was nearby with the Marauder's Map was significant, but he didn't want to invade people's privacy in such a way, and so he quashed the impulse. His face burned as he recalled the previous year, not long after he'd received the map, when he _had_ given in to his curiosity. An involuntary shudder rode up his spine. You didn't always want to know _who_ was 'meeting up.'

He arrived in the owlery to find Hedwig apparently waiting for him, even though it was long after when she would usually be out hunting. He was continually astounded by how smart his familiar was, and told her so as she hopped on his arm to receive the letter.

"It's going back to Sirius," Harry whispered to her as he tied the parchment to her leg. "I know it'll take a while, so don't push yourself too hard."

Hedwig gave him a reproachful look, before taking flight out one of the open windows. He watched her fly out into the darkness, until he could no longer see her white feathers illuminated by the moonlight. He walked quickly back to Gryffindor tower, and went to bed as soon as he got back. Even at Hogwarts he couldn't help but wake up a little before dawn, and he wanted to try and get a good night's sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxX

.

The rest of the week passed slowly, with Harry looking forward to their first lesson with Professor Moody. Fred, George, and Lee's description of the class only served to fuel his excitement. He'd been pleasantly surprised to discover he was pretty good at the defence classes, except for the Patronus charm anyway, and looked forward to lessons from an experienced Auror.

When the time came, Moody's first class didn't disappoint. The old auror started the year by covering the most illegal curses, the Unforgivables, and demonstrated their use on some spiders as he taught. Unfortunately for Harry, though he had expected it, Moody turned his attention to him when it came time to discuss the killing curse.

"There is no defence for the last curse we'll be discussing today. The killing curse," Moody said, after he had finished describing the Cruciatus Curse. Both his normal and magical eyes were fixed upon Harry. "The only person to ever survive it, is sitting right here in this class."

Harry felt his face burn as his classmates all turned to look at him. Harry did his best to keep his level of discomfort under control and off his face. Moody slowly pulled out another spider, and placed it on the table. The class seemed to hold their collective breath, unable to believe what they were about to see. Harry's eyes fixed upon the spider, his heart pounding in his chest.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_ Moody growled. The green flash of light that emanated from his wand catapulted Harry back into his recurring nightmare.

" _Take me! Not Harry! Please not Harry!"_

" _Move aside, or I will kill you as I did your foolish husband."_

" _No! Stay away from Harry! You can't have him!"_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry jolted as the same flash of green light bloomed in his memory, bringing him back to the present. His breathing was ragged, and his hands were white knuckled on the edge of the desk. Moody had begun speaking again, and everybody's attention had been drawn back to the lesson.

"Alright mate?" Ron whispered to him, glancing briefly over to Harry.

Harry nodded, trying to swallow with his suddenly dry mouth. Hermione was on the other side of him, concern etched on her features, though she said nothing. Harry did his best to listen to the rest of the lecture, but everytime he closed his eyes, he saw a flash of green. As class thankfully ended, Harry grabbed his bag, and followed Ron and Hermione out of the room.

"Potter! Longbottom!" Professor Moody called as the fourth years filed out. "Stay behind please."

Ron and Hermione looked back at Harry, a silent question on their faces.

"I'll catch up with you at dinner," he said, before turning back to face the Professor, and a ghost white Neville.

Once the last person had filtered out of the room, Professor Moody shut the door with a wave of his wand, and gestured for Harry to sit down at the desk next to Neville.

"I kept you behind because I wanted to apologize to you," he said without preamble. Neville's color seemed to return a little as his face took on a look of confusion, which Harry was sure mirrored his own expression. "I've been an Auror for a long time, and I know that sometimes, when you've seen an unforgivable in action, seeing it again can bring back some difficult memories."

Professor Moody stood over their desk, looking down with his non-magical eye fixed on Neville and Harry. They both simultaneously looked to the ground in embarrassment. "None of that now," he said gruffly, banging his wooden leg on the ground for emphasis. "Aurors three times your age with a decade of experience behind them can have the exact same thing happen to them. It's just the way normal people work. Only people like the Death Eaters can see the horrors of the unforgivables and feel nothing afterwards.

"I know your first class with me was difficult, but it was necessary," Moody continued, as he began pacing in front of them. "You've got to know what we're up against, especially with the resurgence of the Dark Mark. That doesn't mean that you've got to tough it out though," he said, stopping in front of them again. "Remember, there are teachers here that can help you. We're here to protect you, don't forget that."

Harry and Neville nodded mutely in unison.

Moody's serious, grizzled expression suddenly changed, breaking the tense mood. "I've got some books here for you to read as well," he said as he stepped over to a nearby bookshelf. "Longbottom, I've heard from Professor Sprout that you're something of a prodigy in her greenhouses. I've got a rare book here on some of the lesser known magical plants and fungi for you." He handed Neville a green book that was so faded it was almost grey. "And for you Potter, I've got a book on advanced dark magical creatures, and one on the Patronus Charm. Professor Lupin's notes said you took to his lessons splendidly, but never quite got the hang of the Patronus. Let me know if you have any questions after reading that book."

Moody waved his wand once more, and the classroom door swung open. "Off you go, and feel free to use those books as an excuse as to why I kept you behind. It'll keep most of the students from sticking their noses in your business.

Harry and Neville once again nodded mutely, before grabbing their bags and the books they had been given. Harry tried to walk casually out of the room, though he felt as though he wanted to flee the awkward feeling he had. He didn't know why Moody had kept Neville behind as well, but he knew better than to ask. Everybody already knew what had happened to Harry's parents, but he'd give just about anything to make it so that wasn't the case. He wanted to offer Neville the opportunity he'd never had. The two of them didn't say anything on their long walk down the Great Hall for dinner, both lost in their own, troubled thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Their next defence against the dark arts class saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing at the end of a long line leading to Professor Moody. Who, in Harry's opinion, looked to be having a little too much fun. The fourth years had been shocked when they arrived to their next lesson with the strange old Auror. The students had barely seated themselves when he had instructed them to get back up, and line up to be placed under the Imperius curse. To nobody's great surprise, Hermione was the first to object.

"But sir, you said casting the Imperius is illegal, won't you be arrested and sent to Azkaban?"

Moody laughed gruffly, surprising the other students, who looked as though they agreed with Hermione's concerns.

"If you want your first experience with the Imperius to be at the hands of a Death Eater, then so be it," he ground out, anger clear in his voice and scarred features. He paced around the room, glaring down at those still seated, as well as those that had obediently began forming a haphazard line. "This lesson isn't about teaching you to save your own skin from an Imperious," his voice became sinister as he paused, "though it may well do precisely that against Death Eaters, believe you me."

More than a few people shuddered involuntarily at the bleak statement.

"Not only could the knowledge possibly save your own life," he continued, "but it can save those you care about as well. Your friends," he punctuated his statement by slamming his wooden leg on the floor, making Harry, and everyone else, jump in surprise, "your family, your husbands, wives, and children. Not one of them is safe from you if you're under the control of the Imperious. So, if you've any interest in protecting those you care for, then **line up**!" he barked.

The class scurried into position as he rearranged the desks to make a large space in the middle of the room. A faint looking Neville was first, who looked to be trembling so badly he could barely stand. From their place at the back of the line, which had wrapped around the side of the room so everyone could see, they heard Professor Moody call out ' _Imperio'_. Neville promptly stopped trembling, a look of calm disinterest adorning his features. Without any provocation, the shy boy started performing cartwheels around the room, ending with an impressive flip onto a desk.

When Moody ended the enchantment, Neville blinked down at the class from his place on the desk. He hopped down with far less grace than he had gotten up, but his nerves seemed to have settled significantly. He took a spot against the wall near the end of the line. Harry looked curiously over at Neville, but he seemed to be completely focused on Professor Moody and the other Imperiused students.

The mood in the room was strangely pensive by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it to their turns. Everybody watched the others be Imperioused, and the room was nearly silent while they did so, everyone's attention completely enraptured by the unorthodox lesson.

' _Imperio'_ Moody whispered, as he pointed his wand at Hermione's back. The tension that had been present in her posture slid away instantly, and she began to pirouette around the room. Harry watched her intently, extremely unsettled to see his friend placed under magical control. Ron gulped audibly after Moody released Hermione, who shook her head slightly to herself as she took a spot next to Neville. Harry knew her well enough to know that she was undoubtedly already trying to figure out the mysteries of the Imperious curse. Professor Moody had Ron do cartwheels very similar to Neville, though his routine ended with an impressive handstand. Once released, he took a spot next to Hermione, his freckles standing out on his pale face.

"You're up Potter," Moody said, both normal and magical eye focused on him. Harry woodenly stepped forward, and braced himself as best he could against the unknown.

' _Imperio'_ Moody said from behind as the world around Harry was washed away.

He hadn't expected the weightless freedom that accompanied the Imperious. He had been prepared from some sort of struggle for dominance, not complete and utter contentment. He remembered that he was in class, that he had watched all his friends do ridiculous things, and that he was supposed to try and fight the Imperious, but he found it impossible to care. He reveled in the feeling of freedom, as all his problems were washed away for the first time in his life. He couldn't tell how long he spent enjoying the contented feeling when a quiet voice spoke up from all around him. He recognized Moody's gruff voice giving the instruction.

 _Dance…_ it said tantalizingly. Harry was surprised to find that dancing seemed like a marvelous idea, even though he had never danced before in his life. _Dance…_ it repeated, growing slightly louder. _Dance_!

Oddly, Harry began to feel himself grow obstinate. He wouldn't be pushed around in this world of freedom.

 _I don't think I will_ he thought back at Moody's voice.

 _Dance!_ Moody's voice shot back, growing much louder. _Dance, now!_

Though the voice was louder, and stronger, the feeling of freedom still permeated Harry, and bolstered him. He wouldn't be told what to do within his own mind.

 _I won't._

Do his dismay, he suddenly found himself on his hands and knees on the cold wooden floor of the classroom. The wonderful feelings had vanished, and he felt as though he were drowning as reality washed back over him. He stayed there for a moment, disoriented, before looking up to the astonished faces of his classmates.

"That's the way to do it Potter," Moody almost shouted as he helped him to his feet. "Did you all see that?" the Professor said, addressing the stunned students. "Potter managed to beat the Imperius. Only a handful of you managed to put up any sort of struggle at all."

"But why is that professor?" Hermione asked from her place next to Ron and Neville. "Does everybody experience the same thing while under the Imperius?"

"An excellent question," Moody replied. "What did you feel under the Imperius?"

"I just felt…" she paused, thinking back on the experience, "like I didn't have a care in the world. Like everything always had been, and would always be, okay."

Murmurs of agreement swept around the room.

"Well there's your answer Ms. Granger," Moody said, gesturing to the rest of the class. "Yes, the Imperius is the same for everyone, but as you saw, not everyone can fight through it."

"But why was it so difficult to ignore the voice, even when everything felt so right?" Hermione persisted.

"It's much easier to be someone's tool, than to deal with personal responsibility, Ms. Granger," Moody replied. "That's just the way people are. Some find the draw of the feeling of contentment to be too great, and would do anything to keep it from vanishing. Some don't even realize they've been taken over, and mindlessly do as they're told. Others," he paused, glancing in Harry's direction, who had taken a place next to Ron. "draw strength from the freedom it offers.

"But everyone can learn to recognize its effects and beat it," Moody continued, slipping back into a lecturing tone. "Some just have to work harder than others. Read up on what you can of the Imperius before next class. I'll write passes to the restricted section for those who need it." The bell rang as he finished, and the class eagerly grabbed their things before hurrying from the room.

Harry pondered the Imperius for the rest of the day, only being broken out of his reverie by another burn on his hand from a blast-ended skrewt later in the day. He cursed under his breath, and walked over to where Hagrid had wisely procured some burn ointment from the hospital wing. The burn on his hand served to bring him back to reality though, as he had been wishing he could return to the dreamlike freedom of the Imperius ever since he had broken free of the curse. Though Madam Pomfrey's ointment cured the burn in seconds, it served as a reminder of the other pains in his life that he was seeking escape from. His mood turned melancholy as his thoughts took a downward turn.

He remained in a sour mood until they arrived back at the school to see a massive amount of students huddled around a sign in the entrance hall. They craned their necks to try and see, though Harry knew that he had no chance of seeing over any of the other students, short as he was. He was gratified when Ginny elbowed her way out of the crowd, throwing a sharp elbow into the side of a sixth year boy who trod on her foot as she passed. As she cleared the edge of the crowd, she saw the three of them standing apart, and came over.

"It's a sign saying that the other schools will be here on the 30th for the tournament," she explained without preamble, smoothing her long red hair that had gotten ruffled in her passage through the throng of people. "We all have to be out front of the castle at six to meet them. Classes end a little early for it."

"That's not very far away," Hermione said, "I wonder how soon the tournament will start once they've arrived."

Ginny shrugged in answer before leaving with a small group of other third years.

"I wonder how they're going to pick the champions?" Harry wondered aloud as they walked towards their next class. "Dumbledore didn't say exactly how they were going to do it."

Similar thoughts seemed to be widespread throughout Hogwarts, as the student body talked of little else but the tournament, and their imminent visitors. Speculation about the other schools, as well as the tasks for the tournament, carried the school quickly to the evening of the 30th

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry found himself uncomfortably placed in the center of the assembled students, who had been lined up by year to await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. Harry tried not to grow restless as Professor McGonagall passed down the lines of students, fussing with anything that seemed out of place.

"Chins up, backs straight," she yelled over the heads of the first years, who jumped like they'd been shocked. "They'll be arriving at any moment now." She moved to the back of the group, where the teachers had taken positions reminiscent of their seating arrangement at the staff table. Professor McGonagall took her place to Dumbledore's right, adjusting her long maroon robes one last time before standing still, her head held high.

Seconds turned into minutes as they waited for the other schools to arrive. Harry realized that he didn't know what he was looking for. He didn't expect they'd be flying in by broomstick, and if they were planning to come by floo, they wouldn't all be standing outside. Before he could wonder for much longer, Dumbledore's voice placated the growing noise of chatter.

"I believe," he said, one finger raised to the darkening sky, "that our counterparts from Beauxbatons have arrived."

Every eye followed his finger, which pointed in the direction of Hagrid's hut. Harry squinted, and to his immense surprise, he saw a carriage being drawn by flying horses. He didn't realize at first, but as they drew closer, he saw that both the carriage and the horses were far larger than he thought. The massive horses brought the carriage to a surprisingly graceful stop not far in front of the Hogwarts students. The blue door popped open, and an impossibly large woman stepped out.

Harry was so stunned by the giant woman, that he could almost feel his brain tripping over itself to understand. Was Beauxbatons a school for giants? As the woman drew up to her full height, Harry relaxed a little. She wasn't quite as tall as he thought at first glance, though she still towered over the assembled students. A small smile formed on her large, though attractive, features.

"Madam Maxime," Dumbledore greeted, his arms wide. "We welcome you and your students to Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore," Madam Maxime replied in a deep booming voice, dipping her large head in greeting. "Thank you. We look forward to our stay in your magnificent castle."

"You are too kind."

As they spoke, people began to file out of the overlarge carriage, and stand in lines next to their Headmistress.

"I know you are unaccustomed to our chilly Scottish Autumns, and we have prepared our Great Hall for your convenience. My deputy headmistress will show you the way."

"Thank you," Madam Maxime replied, her deep voice grateful. "What of my horses?" she asked, gesturing to the massive animals.

"They will be taken care of, I assure you," Dumbledore replied, as he gestured for the Hogwarts students to open a path for the new arrivals.

Madam Maxime nodded graciously, and led her group into the castle, following Professor McGonagall, who was just shy of jogging to keep ahead of the large woman. Harry was on the very edge of the path that split the Hogwarts students, and tried to look at every Beauxbatons student as they passed. He didn't think he'd been expecting anything astounding from the new arrivals, but he felt slightly disappointed that they all looked like regular teenagers, though they were all older than he was. A few had dressed for the weather, and wore light jackets, hats, and scarves. All wore the same color robes, a soft blue that matched their carriage.

Harry moved over with the rest of his line to close the path as the last of the Beauxbatons students entered the castle. He hoped they wouldn't have to wait too long, as a chill wind was beginning to make his school robes inadequate. Thankfully, it was mere minutes before a rumbling near the lake signified the arrival of the Durmstrang students. People around him gasped in surprise as a dilapidated ship rose from a whirlpool in the middle of the lake. Shortly after, clouds that had been obstructing the moon finally parted, showing the people making their way from the ship to the entrance. As they drew near to the waiting students, the person in front spoke.

"Dumbledore!" called the tall figure leading the procession. As the man stepped into the light, Harry found himself looking at a man at odds with his friendly voice. He was nearly as tall as Dumbledore, though his posture held none of the open friendliness that Dumbledore exuded. His hair was short and shone silver in the moonlight, with a goatee to match. His face was split in a wide smile that was matched only by his tone of voice. His eyes were not smiling, and looked cold and hard.

"Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore greeted in return, "I hope your trip was satisfactory."

"Oh yes," said the Durmstrang Headmaster. "The ship may be centuries old, but she still sails like new. Shall we adjourn into the castle Headmaster? We are overdressed for this weather, and I would very much like to sit in a chair that isn't rocking beneath me."

Without prompting, the Hogwarts students split again down the middle, allowing Karkaroff and his student to pass into the entrance hall. Harry did a double take when he saw the student behind Karkaroff pass by, then nearly jumped out of his skin when an elbow slammed into his upper arm.

"It's Viktor Krum," Ron whispered from his place next to Harry.

Ron was right, and he wasn't the only one who noticed. Whispers broke out among the Hogwarts students as Krum passed by, though the lanky young man seemed unaware.

It wasn't long before everyone was seated within the Great Hall. Harry saw a few of the Beauxbatons girls still wrapped up in their hats and scarves, while the Durmstrang students had shed their heavy furs the moment they had entered the castle. Viktor Krum sat flanked by two of his largest classmates, who were chasing off anybody who tried to pester the young seeker.

"Don't reckon I'm gonna get an autograph with those guys around," Ron complained, following Harry's gaze.

"He's _just_ a seeker," Hermione said from her place across the table from them.

She was spared Ron's angry tirade about Quidditch by Professor Dumbledore, who was gesturing for quiet. Even with the visitors, the hall quieted almost immediately.

"Please allow me to officially welcome our guests to Hogwarts," he began, gesturing to the new arrivals. "I do hope you find yourself almost as comfortable here as you might in your home school. It is our hope that you create lasting bonds of friendship and camaraderie through the course of the Triwizard Tournament. After the feast, we will have a few announcements regarding the tournament, but until then, please enjoy the meal our marvelous elves have cooked for this special occasion."

"Elves?" Hermione asked questioningly as a massive amount of food appeared on the table in front of them. Harry saw many dishes that were typically reserved for the largest of feast days, as well as many dishes he didn't recognize. Two dishes he didn't recognize sat directly in front of him. One was some sort of dumpling that seemed to be stuffed with different meats, and the other appeared to be a stew of some sort. He avoided both, and stuck to the food he was familiar with.

Once finished, Harry set his fork on his plate, once again having stuffed himself nearly to bursting. Most days he avoided it, but on the feast days, he just couldn't help himself. He was about to lean back and stretch when a voice spoke behind him.

"Excuse me," said an accented, but distinctly feminine voice. "Would you mind if we were to take your bouillabaisse from this table? We have eaten ours."

Harry turned, and thought the thump of surprise that his heart gave might have deafened him. The tall, beautiful, and, now that Harry was much closer, admittedly well-figured witch with the silver-blond hair from the world cup was standing not a foot away from him. He was slightly disappointed when her dark blue eyes quickly flitted up to look at his scar. He was pleased that she didn't seem to react in any way, but it helped bring him down from his surprise.

"I'm uh, not sure which one that is," he said apologetically, looking at the two mystery dishes in front of him.

"I can make you some if you want!" Ron burst out, making Harry jump. He looked over at Ron in shock. His friend had not once mentioned a single time he had cooked a meal in the nearly four years they had known each other.

"I think the stew on the table will be adequate," she said, not once looking at Ron. "May I," she asked Harry, who slid sideways to allow her to reach the large bowl.

Harry felt awkward leaning out of her way, and felt the cloth of her robe brush his shoulder. He caught the scent of cinnamon from her robes as she leaned past to grab the strange stew. She inclined her head to him once she had straightened, bouillabaisse in hand.

"Thank you," she said, before departing back for her seat at the Ravenclaw table. Harry looked over to Ron, who was still looking glassy eyed in her direction. Harry shook his head, and turned back to Hermione, who was looking at Ron, annoyed.

"Snap out of it Ronald, you're making a fool of yourself," she said briskly, leaning over the table to swat him on the arm. The contact seemed to snap him out of it, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

"She's a Veela," he said after a moment. "Just like at the World Cup. Made my head go all fuzzy."

"She's very pretty," Hermione admitted, though somewhat grudgingly in Harry's opinion. "But that doesn't mean she's a Veela."

"But she's got the silver hair like they had," Ron argued back, "and they do that weird thing to you. You both felt it, right?"

"Firstly, there are many potions and spells that can change your hair color, or she could be a metamorphmagus. Although that would be less likely than being a Veela."

"A metamor-what?"

"Honestly Ron, it's like you don't even care that you live in a magical world," Hermione snapped. "Look it up! Secondly, if she were a Veela, I wouldn't feel anything because I'm a girl."

"Well Harry was right here too, he would've felt something too, right?" he asked, looking at Harry as he spoke.

"I uh, didn't feel my mind go fuzzy or anything," he said quietly, not wishing to be in the middle of an argument.

"You see Ron, it's very rare for someone to be able to resist the Allure of a Veela, though it doesn't work on…" she trailed off, before plowing quickly ahead, "well nevermind, point is, she's probably not a Veela."

Harry thought differently, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to provoke an already annoyed Hermione.

"That's not a normal girl," Ron persisted, gesturing to a few other people who had the same glassy eyed expression still on their features.

" _She's_ probably just as normal as the rest of us," Hermione retorted, anger beginning to color her face. "Don't you _dare_ start sounding like the Slytherins, calling anyone with mixed blood a 'that'."

Ron seemed to shrink in on himself beneath Hermione's vehemence, and wisely decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meal. Once the desserts vanished from the tables, Dumbledore stood. Harry was surprised to see Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch to either side of Dumbledore, apparently having arrived during Ron and Hermione's argument. Harry's stomach did an uncomfortable flop at the sight of Mr. Crouch, as his words from the World Cup came bubbling to the surface of Harry's memory. He was suddenly aware of the weight of his wand within his robes. Luckily, Dumbledore's speech helped distract him from the thoughts.

"And now, let us discuss the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore said once the noise died down. "Let me start by introducing two of the key organizers for the tournament, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, and Mr. Ludo Bagman." Both wizards waved as their names were spoken to polite applause. "Mr. Crouch is our head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and has been working tirelessly for the last year to bring us both the Quidditch World Cup, and the Triwizard Tournament, in the hopes of strengthening our bonds with our friends from other countries. Mr. Bagman is our head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and has worked alongside Mr. Crouch to help set up the tasks that will be presented to our Champions."

Murmurs broke out around the Great Hall as Dumbledore finished, which he quieted with a hand asking for their attention.

"I know you are all wondering about the champions, and how they will be selected. Allow me to finally ease your curiosity, and show you our judge for the Triwizard Tournament." He gestured over to the door nearest the staff table, and all eyes moved to follow. Filch came striding out of the room carrying a large wooden chest. He placed the chest between Dumbledore and Mr. Crouch, and slid back into the shadows behind the staff table.

"Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and myself have worked many long hours to devise a tournament that is challenging enough to carry the name of Triwizard Tournament, but isn't quite as deadly as its predecessors. Although the chance of mortal injury is severely reduced, do not think the tasks will be simple spell casting and minor puzzles. The champions will be pushed to the best of their abilities, magically, physically, and mentally. They must be able to think on their feet, and adapt to new and dangerous situations as they arise. Though we have done our best to ensure the tournament is safer than ever before, there exists the possibility that we may lose one of our champions to the tasks. It is for this reason that we have imposed the rule that champions must be of majority age."

Dumbledore bent down to the chest near his feet, and opened it with a tap of his wand. Everyone in the Great Hall sat up a little straighter in an attempt to see what was inside.

"This," he said, straightening up again, "is the Goblet of Fire."

True to its name, Harry saw that the strange wooden cup seemed to be completely full of ethereal blue flames.

"The selection process is simple. Anyone who wishes to be considered for champion will put their name and school upon a piece of parchment, and place it in the goblet. You will have twenty-four hours to submit your name. We will announce the champions after the Halloween feast tomorrow night."

Speculative conversation burst out around the Great Hall as Dumbledore finished his statement.

"I have a few more things to discuss before you head back to your dormitories," Dumbledore said loudly over the din. The conversations cut off sporadically, and he waited until it was silent before speaking once more. "Two final items. Firstly, is that I will be placing an age line around the goblet to ensure that no underage student can enter."

Harry heard Fred and George curse under their breaths from a few seats down the table.

"Secondly, it is to warn you that once your name is in the goblet, you are placed within a magical contract. If you are selected, you _must_ compete in the tournament. You will be unable to withdraw without sacrificing your magical abilities, as is the standard with magical contracts. I implore you to consider yourself, and your skill, before entering your name into the goblet."

The hall was silent as his words were considered by everybody present.

"The cup will be placed in the entry hall tonight, and will be available to those students wishing to enter. And now, I bid you goodnight."

Conversation once again broke out among the students as they rose from their seats, and began filing out of the Great Hall. Harry saw Fred and George talking excitedly together just ahead. He didn't think anybody would be able to fool a spell that Dumbledore placed, but if anybody was crafty enough to do so, it'd be them.

"Wonder who the Hogwarts champion will be," Ron said, speaking for the first time since being yelled at by Hermione.

"Dunno," Harry replied, "I don't know many seventh year students."

"I wish I could enter," Ron said wistfully.

"You'd be killed," Hermione said flatly, clearly still angry. "You heard Dumbledore. There's a chance that a seventeen year old champion will be killed, someone our age wouldn't stand a chance."

"Being dead might finally get you off my back," Ron shot back.

Hermione shot him a look that was part venomous, and part hurt. She stormed ahead of them, passing into the entrance hall and out of sight.

Ron stayed foul tempered all the way back to Gryffindor tower, where Harry excused himself quickly for bed. Dumbledore's announcement had run longer than usual, and for once he was excited to get up as early as he usually did. He wanted to see who would be putting their names in the goblet.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The following morning, Harry sat quietly between his two friends, who were still refusing to speak to one another. The three of them ate quickly, wanting to go see who would be placing their name in the goblet. They had nearly finished when the morning post owls arrived, swarming into the Great Hall to the apparent surprise of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. As the owls landed on the tables Harry heard what sounded to be curses in other languages. He didn't understand the words they said, he certainly understood the tone. A glint of snowy white in the mass of brown owls caught his eye, and Hedwig soared down to him, a parchment strapped to her leg.

Harry patted her head as he untied the string holding the letter with his other hand, and offered her a piece of bacon he had left of his plate. She eagerly ate the offering, before stealing two more pieces off Ron's plate, and flew off, back to the Owlery.

"Ruddy bird," Ron complained under his breath as he grabbed a few more pieces of bacon. Harry didn't let Ron's bad mood get him down. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was paying attention before opening the letter.

 _Harry,_

 _I heard about the events of the World Cup, even all the way out here. I can sometimes pilfer a copy of the Prophet from somebody when they aren't looking, and it helps keep me somewhat up to date. That Skeeter woman sure has it in for the Ministry. I bet she'd love a story like mine. It'd give her a chance to raise all sorts of hell for Fudge and the Wizengamot._

 _I'm glad you weren't hurt in the attack, hopefully you were far enough away from the Death Eaters that you weren't in any real danger. I expect they'd love to get their hands on you, so be sure to keep your head down! Especially with the Triwizard Tournament going on. I don't know what Dumbledore is thinking allowing such a dangerous thing to take place at Hogwarts, but I expect he wouldn't allow someone as young as you are to compete. Traditionally, you have to be of majority age, since something like half the champions usually get killed._

 _As much as I love Hedwig, we're going to have to start using other owls. She's a little too noticeable._

There was a long streak of ink after the word 'noticeable' and a few dark brown drops of what looked to be blood.

 _She bit me! Before I met her, I'd never have thought an owl could be so intelligent, but here we are. How'd you manage to find a bird that can read anyway?_

 _I'm trying to find some leads on where Peter went so we can put this whole mess behind us, I'd like to be a free man so I can see you graduate from Hogwarts through the eyes of a man, not a dog._

 _Take care of yourself,_

 _Sirius_

Harry reread it a few times, cherishing one of the few letters he had ever received. He wished it were easier for him to talk to his Godfather, but just a year ago he didn't even know he had one, and knew he'd prefer this over nothing at all. He'd have to write Sirius a reply soon. He'd probably want to know that the tournament wasn't supposed to be nearly as deadly as it had been before. He rolled up his letter, and stuffed it in his robes while whispering to Ron that Sirius hadn't written anything worth mentioning. He felt oddly protective of the relatively normal letter. After all, he didn't ask to read Ron's letters from his mother.

The three of them hurried from the Great Hall to where the goblet sat in the entrance room, surrounded by Hogwarts students. Many of them were laughing, gesturing to their faces. Neville, who was standing apart from a group of Gryffindors near him, spotted them, and hurried over.

"Did you see it?" he asked, a small grin on his face.

"See what?" Harry asked, looking around the crowded hall.

"Fred and George! They both tried using a potion to get past Dumbledore's age line. They were tossed out and grew great big beards!"

"I'd like to have seen that," Ron said with a chuckle.

"They went to the hospital wing to get Madam Pomfrey to remove it. They were changing the colors of each other's beards as they left."

Harry laughed at the thought of Fred and George with their red hair and lime green beards, but cut off when the doors to the entrance hall swung open. Madame Maxime led the Beauxbatons students through the door in a line, each with a small piece of parchment clutched tightly in their hands. Harry saw the silver-blond girl at the front of the line, just behind her Headmistress. Though she was tall, and stood a full head above her other classmates, she only barely came above Madame Maxime's waistline.

The noise and laughter in the hall died down when the Beauxbatons students showed up, and was replaced by whispers. Harry noticed the boys closest to the cup sporting the vacant expression now present on Ron's face as well. A few of the bolder students called out to the beautiful witch, though she deftly ignored any calls for her attention. Harry watched as she put her parchment in the goblet, which it accepted with a shower of sparks. He jolted when she looked directly at him after stepping out of the age line to let the next person put their name in. She looked back forward so quickly Harry wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined it, but he didn't have to wonder long.

"She looked at me," Ron said dreamily, "did you see?"

Harry saw Hermione shoot Ron a withering glance from his other side, but doubted Ron could see her, and was certain he wouldn't care at the moment. Harry frowned at the retreating Beauxbatons students. He wouldn't be surprised if the tale of the Boy-Who-Lived carried to other countries, but that didn't lessen his annoyance at being stared at because of his scar.

The day passed slowly as students came and went from the entrance hall, some to enter their name, most to watch for the potential champions. The Weasley twins had returned from the hospital wing, now sporting multi colored beards that periodically changed color of their own accord.

"Got a massive lecture from Madam Pomfrey," Fred explained, when Ron asked why they still had their knee length beards. "She said we cast too much magic at the jinx when we were changing the colors, and we overpowered the spell. Now we just have to wait for them to fall off."

"It's growing on me though," George added with a wink.

The laughter that followed died down as Dumbledore entered the hall, and removed the goblet from its place at the center of the room.

"The entry period for the Triwizard Tournament is now closed. If everyone would kindly find their way into the Great Hall, dinner is about to be served." Dumbledore led the students in the entrance hall towards the doors to the Great Hall, when he stopped momentarily in front of Fred and George, who were leaning against the wall, purposely looking nonchalant. The edges of Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes crinkled as a wide smile lifted his mustaches. The twins' beards shifted colors at just that moment, eliciting a chuckle from the headmaster.

"Five points to Gryffindor," he said, stroking his own voluminous white beard with his free hand, "for giving me something new in which to aspire." Fred and George high-fived each other after Dumbledore had passed into the Great Hall and out of sight.

The following dinner was one of the most tense affairs in recent memory, with most students spending their time looking at the goblet rather than actually eating. Conversations was erratic as people jumped from speculation about possible champions, to guesses about the tasks, and dreams of spending the prize money. After what seemed like an eternity, Dumbledore finally put an end to their collective misery.

"You have been most patient," he said as the last of the treacle tart vanished from the tables, "and it is now finally time to discover who will be representing their schools in the Triwizard Tournament."

As he finished speaking, the cup's fire shifted to the bright red of the sparks that issued forth when a student's name was accepted. Seconds later, a parchment flew out, smoldering on the edges.

"Viktor Krum!" Dumbledore announced, followed by thunderous applause. "Durmstrang's champion has been selected. Mr. Krum, would you please make your way through that door," he instructed, indicating the doorway just behind the staff table.

Moments after the Krum left the room, another singed piece of parchment came flying out.

"Cedric Diggory, will be the champion for Hogwarts!" He called out, to an explosion of cheers from the Hogwarts students. Even the Slytherins cheered for the friendly Hufflepuff, who waved appreciatively on his way to the meeting room.

The third piece flew into the air a minute later.

"Fleur Delacour will be the champion for Beauxbatons,"

' _So that's her name_ ', Harry thought as his eyes followed her graceful walk across the great hall. He finally knew her name. His eyes followed Fleur until the last strand of long silvery hair disappeared through the doorway. The applause was loud, with many of the male students giving a standing ovation.

Dumbledore raised his hands for quiet, and opened his mouth to speak. Harry could almost hear the click of the headmaster's jaw as it slammed shut when the cup spat out one more piece of paper. The occupants of the hall seemed to hold their breath as Dumbledore snatched the fourth parchment out of the air. Harry's heart sank when Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed his direction, an unreadable expression passing over his aged face.

"Harry Potter," he said quietly, though the hall was silent enough that his voice carried across the massive room.

Harry's mind raced as every eye in the room focused on him, and every mouth whispered his name. His face flushed, and he tried very hard to will himself to vanish.

"To the champion's room Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said over the whispers, his eyes unblinking and his countenance stern.

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione in panic. Hermione gestured him towards the staff table, her expression unreadable. Harry looked to Ron, and was surprised when the redhead wouldn't meet his eyes. Harry slowly stood and walked towards the door that the other champions had passed through. He felt sure that his heart was hammering so hard that the people he passed must be able to hear it. Harry felt every pair of eyes on him as he passed the staff table, students and teachers alike. He wasn't looking forward to greeting the true Triwizard Champions, but he would be glad to be out of the Great Hall.

Harry entered the small room to find Cedric and Fleur standing by a roaring fire at the opposite end of the room. Cedric stood, eyes unfocused, staring off at a point somewhere above the mantle, though his eyes seemed to regularly shift to Fleur. She was crouched down, her hands held close to the fire, apparently attempting to warm up. Her long hair shone in the firelight, trailing slightly onto the floor behind her. It took Harry a moment to locate Krum, who had taken a spot in a dark corner. The lanky man was studying them all critically.

Fleur turned as Harry stepped further into the room, drawing up to her full height, one perfect eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

"Did they need us back in the hall for something?" she asked in her accented, but crystal clear voice. Cedric seemed to come back to himself when she spoke, and turned a questioning gaze to Harry.

"Er," Harry mumbled, not quite sure what to say. He was saved having to elaborate by the arrival of Ludo Bagman, who was the only person who appeared excited by the event.

"Harry!" he said jovially as he drew closer to Harry. Bagman looked down at him with a smile, before clapping a hand to his shoulder, and addressing the other champions. Harry jumped at the contact, and couldn't help but slide out from under Bagman's calloused hand.

"Say hello to the fourth Triwizard Champion!" Bagman said bluntly, eliciting shocked expressions from Fleur and Cedric.

"But you're only a fourth year," Cedric said, looking at Harry in confusion. Harry was happy to see that there was no anger on his face, only bewilderment. "How were you able to put your name in?"

"I didn't," Harry replied quickly, looking pleadingly at Ludo Bagman. "Can't I just withdraw or something? The rules say I'm too young to compete."

Fleur looked critically at Ludo Bagman, who quickly noticed her attention.

"Surely there has been some mistake," she said acidly, her eyes narrowing. "The dangers were made very clear. It was made to sound like anyone underage and underskilled would perish if they attempted to participate."

"Well," Bagman said, dragging the word out. Before he was able to fully respond, the heads of the three schools all entered, followed by Mr. Crouch, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Moody.

"You are correct," Madam Maxime said, her deep voice full of disapproval. "The tournament is indeed too dangerous for one as young as him."

Harry felt the stirrings of annoyance underneath his panic at the repeated mention of his age, but deep down he knew they were right.

"The question is," Karkaroff interjected, his dark piercing eyes focused on Dumbledore, "why does Hogwarts get two champions? It is unfair, even if he is too young."

"I assure you that we had no intention of breaking the rules we all worked so hard to perfect," Dumbledore said placatingly. He turned his gaze to Harry, who felt very small as the center of attention. "Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?"

"No sir," Harry replied automatically looking up at the headmaster.

"Potter is a fair wizard," Moody interjected, "but he's not good enough to pass by an age line that was laid by Dumbledore."

Karkaroff and Professor McGonagall nodded in agreement, though Madam Maxime seemed unconvinced.

"Perhaps he asked an older student to place his name in the Goblet of Fire," she said, having taken an almost protective position next to Fleur, who's contemptuous gaze swept around the room.

"The enchantments on the cup forbid an individual to enter a name other than their own," Mr. Crouch answered, speaking up for the first time. "Entering your name constitutes entering into a magical contract that _must_ be fulfilled, and you cannot enter someone else into a magical contract."

"Then he must have bypassed the age line somehow," Karkaroff spat.

"Even I couldn't have bypassed Dumbledore's age line if I wasn't of age," Moody countered irritably. "Potter certainly isn't able to do so."

"Perhaps Dumbledore allowed him to pass," Madame Maxime said, her large eyes steely, as she stared down intimidatingly at the assembled group.

"He did no such thing," Professor McGonagall replied instantly, her face as angry as Harry had ever seen it. "Albus, surely Mr. Potter will not be made to compete."

"I am sorry Minerva," Dumbledore said, though his eyes were still locked on Harry. "If Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, he must compete, or forfeit his magical abilities."

Dumbledore's statement caused silence to fall upon the small room, and all eyes to fall upon Harry.

"I think," Moody said after a moment, "that if Dumbledore were trying to gain an advantage for Hogwarts in the tournament, he'd have chosen a second champion that stood an actual chance at winning any of the tasks."

Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nodded slowly after a moment, both unable to fault his logic.

"And if Potter did somehow manage to pass an age line crafted by the most powerful wizard alive today and bewitch a centuries old magical artifact, then perhaps he deserves to be a fourth champion."

Dumbledore nodded graciously at the praise, and turned his gaze back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime.

"Are you satisfied that we have not skewed the champion results in our favor?" He asked calmly.

"I suppose so," Karkaroff said reluctantly, his cold eyes shifting from Harry to Dumbledore.

"It would be impossible for one so young as him to best any of the true champions," Madame Maxime replied with a glance down at Fleur, who features were still set in a look of outrage. "I do not think he should be barred from competing in order to fulfill his obligation to the magical contract."

"That settles it then," Dumbledore said. "Barty, would you please give the instructions?"

Harry barely heard Mr. Crouch as he informed them of the first task, though he didn't explain what it would be, only when. He could barely sort through his thoughts. He felt mostly disbelief, with the small stirrings of irritation at having his age and lack of ability mentions so many times.

He stared blankly as the majority of the occupants of the room filed out when Mr. Crouch finished. He saw Cedric glance back at him just before he exited the room. Only Harry, Dumbledore, Professor Moody, and Professor McGonagall remained behind at Dumbledore's request.

"Please indulge me Harry," Dumbledore said once the door closed behind Cedric. "But now that it's just us. Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir!" Harry replied more vehemently than he had meant to. His shock was beginning to subside, and he felt it being replaced by anger. Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes searched his for a moment, before he seemed to accept Harry's statement at last.

"Well," Dumbledore said to the other two professors, "if Harry did not put his name in the goblet-"

"Then someone else did," Moody interjected gravely.

"But why would someone want Mr. Potter to compete in the tournament?" asked Professor McGonagall, her gaze shifting to Harry for a moment before returning to the headmaster..

"That is something we will have to discuss and speculate upon," Dumbledore interjected, "but not right this moment." He turned again to Harry. "I expect everyone has made their way back to the dormitories, and it is time you did so as well. I know it will be difficult, but try and get some rest tonight."

Harry wanted to argue, to say that he too should be discussing who could have entered his name into the tournament, but Dumbledore's very clear dismissal left no room for argument, and he bid the professors goodnight.

He was dreading returning to Gryffindor tower. He knew that nobody would believe that he hadn't put his name in the cup, and that he'd be hounded about how he'd managed it. He hoped he'd be able to slip past everyone and talk to Ron and Hermione about it, though he expected he'd have to wait till morning. As he trudged up a flight of stairs, he felt Sirius' letter crumple a little in the pocket of his robes. He hadn't replied to Sirius yet, and he knew his Godfather would want to know about his situation. He already knew he wouldn't be able to sleep much, and it'd be nice to be looking forward to a letter from Sirius. He picked up the pace, his spirits lifted slightly by the prospect of writing to his Godfather.

XxXxXxXxX

As he'd expected, what seemed to be the entirety of Gryffindor was waiting in the common room to see him. Noticeably absent were Ron and Hermione, though he figured that they, like him, didn't want to be around the rambunctious crowd. He did his best to dodge the multitude of congratulations and questions directed at him, but he still had difficulty making his way to the stairs to their dorms. After dodging questions from the Weasley twins a third time, he finally escaped up the stairs to the fourth year dorms, shutting the door behind him. Judging by the commotion that was still audible through the closed door, it would be quite late before he could slip out with his invisibility cloak to go to the owlery.

When Harry turned around after shutting the door, he saw Ron standing near the middle of the room. His tall red headed friend wore a half hearted smile, and greeted Harry.

"You're back," Ron said, the attempt at casualness obvious in his voice. Ron's tone instantly put Harry on edge. Usually his friend was an open book, and didn't try to cover his feelings. Harry could tell that something was bothering him, but wasn't sure how to handle a taciturn Ron.

"Yeah," Harry replied wearily.

"Did they tell you what the first task will be?" asked Ron, genuine curiosity mingling with his constructed facade.

"Just that it's a test to see how well we think on our feet," answered Harry, moving over to his trunk to pull out parchment and quill.

"So they're letting you compete?"

"If I don't compete I'll lose my magic," Harry explained bluntly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

"Was Dumbledore mad that you put your name in?" Ron asked, the feigned nonchalance as thick as could be. Harry suddenly felt very heavy and tired, and dropped his quill and parchment on his bed. He had expected to be able to commiserate with his friends. Every year they all got caught up in some wild unwanted adventure, and this year was no different. Except this year it was just him, Ron and Hermione wouldn't be in danger this time. On the one hand he was grateful that it was only him facing the dangerous tournament, and not his friends, but having Ron and Hermione at his side gave him some comfort. It troubled Harry deeply that one of the two people that truly knew him well didn't believe him. Did Hermione think he put his name in as well?

"I didn't put my name in," Harry replied finally, repeating the phrase he must have said at least twenty times down in the common room.

"You can tell me," Ron said, finally dropping his act and speaking sincerely. "I'd have liked to put my name in too, but I'm not mad that you get the chance at the glory and prize money." Harry looked over at his friend, and saw that his words were at odds with his eyes. He felt anger of his own spark inside him. Ron had a life Harry _actually_ dreamed of, with a family who loved him and a life where he had grown up in the magical world to which he belonged. Now Ron was getting upset that he thought that Harry entered himself in a tournament that he didn't even care about? Harry tried to cool his anger, not wanting to lash out if he could help it, but memories of Ron complaining about how his family couldn't afford things, and how his mother was overbearing came unbidden into his mind. Harry would trade an extra month being tortured by the Dursleys for just a day in his shoes being loved by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Somebody put my name in the goblet," Harry ground out, still trying to master his volatile emotions.

"You don't have to lie to me," Ron said, trying to sound conspiratorial, but mostly sounding angry. "You should have given me the chance to enter too, not kept it to yourself. We're best mates aren't we?"

"I thought we were," Harry shot back in a furious burst of anger and self-pity. He really couldn't catch a break could he? "I didn't put my name in. I don't care if you don't believe me."

Ron's expression flipped from irritation to anger, and his face flushed red. Harry couldn't help but notice how much bigger his friend was than him now that Ron was angry. Ron stomped towards the door. Harry flinched as he passed by, but Ron stared stonily ahead, and slammed the dorm door behind him.

Harry blinked back angry tears as he looked around the room, making sure none of the other fourth year boys were there to see him. He stood rooted to the floor while he tried to calm down. He tried to focus on his letter to Sirius, rather than his anger. Surely his godfather would believe him.

He was thankful that nobody came to bed while he was writing his letter to Sirius, it gave him time to calm down, and write a second draft of his letter. The first had been a little too whiny for his taste.

 _Sirius,_

 _No sense in beating around the bush, so I'll just tell you right off. I was named as the fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Yes, the fourth champion. I didn't put my name in the goblet, and Professor Moody and Professor Dumbledore both think someone must have put my name in somehow. They didn't tell me much more than that, beyond that I have to compete. The first task is in late November, but they didn't tell us what it was. Nobody believes that I didn't put my name in the cup. Not even Ron._

 _They did say that the tournament isn't as dangerous as it used to be, but that there is still a lot of danger involved. So hopefully it won't go too badly._

 _Let me know if you get anything on Peter, I'd love for you to be able to come out of hiding._

 _-Harry_

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry ascended the final flight of stairs to the owlery, his letter to Sirius clutched tightly in his hand. He pulled off his invisibility cloak once he'd made sure nobody was lurking in the shadows of the owlery. He liked to come up to visit with Hedwig during his late night excursions when he couldn't sleep, but unfortunately, couples also seemed to enjoy the privacy afforded by the remote tower. After discovering a couple doing a fair bit more than snogging, he always carefully listened for anybody in the owlery before climbing the last few steps. He was often glad for the invisibility cloak, but he had been especially glad that he hadn't been seen by that couple, and could escape without a confrontation.

Once he had determined he was alone, he shrugged off the cloak, and looked up to the few owls remaining inside at night. He knew he needed an owl that could travel long distances, but he'd never had to use an owl other than Hedwig, and he didn't really know what to look for. As if summoned by his thought of her, Hedwig soared in through one of the open windows, and landed gracefully on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry girl," he said when she eyed the letter in his hand, "but I have to use a different owl."

Hedwig nipped angrily at his ear, and looked pointedly at the letter.

"You're just too pretty," he said placatingly, trying to dodge a peck aimed at the side of his head. "People might recognize you, and he could be caught."

She shot him a baleful look before hopping off his shoulder and onto one of the lower roosts to glower at him.

"That is an unusually smart bird you have there," said an accented feminine voice from behind him. He whirled around in surprise, desperately trying to remember if he had mentioned Sirius by name. His thoughts were brought up short when he met the serious blue eyes of Fleur Delacour.

"Uh, yeah, she is," he replied after a moment, gesturing in Hedwig's general direction.

"What is her name?" Fleur asked after a moment, not breaking eye contact.

"Hedwig," he replied, looking away from her, and up at Hedwig, who had turned her back to him.

"She is beautiful," Fleur said, having moved closer to Harry to get a better look at Hedwig. After a moment, Fleur turned back to Harry, now so close that her height made it so he had to look up to talk with her.

"After we left the room earlier," she said suddenly, "did they discover who placed your name in the goblet?"

"Er, what?" Harry said, struggling to keep up with the sudden change in topic.

"I assumed that is why they kept you behind," she replied, "after the announcement of the champions."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, "or rather, no, they didn't."

Fleur frowned at his reply, a little of the outrage he had seen in the room coloring her features. She appeared to be ready to say something, but Harry quickly cut in.

"You believe me?" he asked, desperate for someone besides Dumbledore to believe him. Especially after what happened with Ron.

"Of course," she said, the outrage being replaced by a puzzled expression. "Many people tried to pass the age line put in place by your headmaster. Not a single person managed it, and if they had, and their name had been called, they would have been proud of their accomplishment, not continually deny it."

Harry felt a swell of warmth spark inside him. At least someone believed him, although he felt a stab of loneliness that one of the only people who did was someone from a different country. None of the people who _actually_ knew him believed what he was saying.

"But you seemed so angry at me," he said after a moment.

"I wasn't angry with _you_. I was angry with those Ministry officials who didn't seem the least bit concerned that you have been roped into a life and death situation. My father has been placed at your Ministry to discover the reason why there are so many oddities and exceptions within the British wizarding laws. This is just another in a long line of issues he's had to deal with."

She seemed to remember something, and reached into the pockets of her blue robes, and withdrew a letter.

"That is actually the reason I am here. I wrote to my father about being selected champion, and informed him of the...irregularity of this tournament."

"I was writing to my Godfather about it too," Harry replied, holding up his slightly crumpled parchment.

A shadow of something seemed to pass over Fleur's face, but before Harry could identify it, it was gone.

"Why not wait until the morning to send your letter?" Fleur asked.

"You're here late too," Harry replied. He certainly couldn't tell her he was sending a letter to Britain's most wanted man.

"It's.." she hesitated a moment, looking down into Harry's eyes, "easier for me to walk around at night."

Harry nodded, understanding the desire for solitude from the stare of strangers.

"You understand that, no?" she asked, surprising Harry by voicing his thoughts.

"Yeah, I do," he said, his hand rising unconsciously to his scar. He put his hand down quickly once he realized what he was doing. If Fleur noticed, she didn't show it, and for that Harry was grateful.

A silence stretched between them that Harry was unsure how to break. As far as he could tell Fleur was perfectly content to stand quietly, surrounded by owls and straw. She spoke finally, breaking the silence.

"Though I have enjoyed our conversation, I must send my letter and get back to the carriage. I will be missed if I am absent for too long, especially now that I am champion," she said, with no small measure of pride in her voice.

Harry was surprised at her words, seeing as he had only said a few things, but he didn't argue. He had liked speaking with her as well, especially after Ron's reaction.

"Me too," he replied, "er, I liked talking with you too. Not the champion thing."

She smiled at his words. "Surely you will be missed as well if you are gone too late, fourth champion or not."

"I don't like the crowded common room of our dorm much, so I tend to take walks in the evenings," he explained, taking care not to be untruthful.

"Something else we have in common." Fleur looked around at the birds that were flying in and out of the open windows for a moment, then back to Harry. "Could you tell me which ones are free to use? I cannot tell which belong to the school and which are owned by students."

"It's sort of a trial-and-error thing," he said, walking up to a large brown owl sitting close to him. "If they offer you their leg, you're good to go."

"That seems a little..." she paused a moment before continuing, "disorganized."

"You aren't wrong," he replied. "You can use Hedwig if you'd like. She'll like taking a letter since she can't take mine. She may even stop being mad at me by the time she gets back."

"Thank you," Fleur said, looking over to where Hedwig was perched, her back still to the pair of them. "Do you think she will let me?"

Before he could reply, Hedwig had flown down to the roost in front of them, and was offering Fleur her leg. The snowy owl stood still as Fleur tied her letter to Hedwig's leg, and flew out the window as soon as she had finished. Harry tied his letter to the brown owl he had walked up to, and watched it fly out behind Hedwig, though noticeably slower. It'd be a long time before he got a reply from Sirius.

"Thank you again for offering your owl," Fleur said, turning to him. She bid him goodnight with a smile, and left him alone in an owlery that suddenly felt colder and lonelier.

XxXxXxXxX

Harry's first event as a champion happened a few days after his meeting with Fleur. He was saved from an astoundingly dull Potions lesson by Colin Creevey, who had been sent to escort Harry up to a classroom where the champions were gathering. Harry quietly said goodbye to Hermione, who was one of the few people who were still speaking to him in the castle. Even the other Gryffindors seemed to think along the same lines as Ron, all believing that he was trying to steal the glory from the _real_ champions.

"Here we are," Colin said when they arrived at the classroom containing the other champions.

"Thanks Colin," Harry said before knocking on the closed door.

The door swung open before Harry could knock a second time to reveal a smiling Ludo Bagman.

"Good to see you Harry, good to see you," he said, ushering Harry into the room, and shutting the door in Colin's face.

Once he was in the room, Harry saw that he was the last champion to arrive. Krum stood in a corner with Karkaroff, not far from where Cedric loitered by a window. Fleur and Madam Maxime were speaking in whispered conversation with one another across the room from where Cedric stood. Their conversation paused when Harry entered the room, and Fleur offered him a smile in greeting. He smiled back at her, before being shepherded over near Cedric by an impatient Bagman.

"Now that you're here Harry, we can get started," said Bagman.

"Since Dumbledore and Ollivander have not yet arrived," came a voice that Harry didn't recognize, "perhaps we can begin the interviews to pass the time."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry looked over to the source of the voice, and saw a middle aged woman with glasses who was staring at him as though he were a particularly tasty meal. He fought the urge to hide behind something or someone to escape her gaze. Instead he looked away from her, and back to where Fleur ad Madame Maxime were standing, no longer caught up in conversation, but were instead eyeing the woman with weary gazes. Harry saw the woman follow his gaze from the corner of his eye, and saw her features turn almost predatory. Before she could jump on the 'opportunity' the classroom door swung open, rescuing Harry.

"I apologize for the delay," Dumbledore said as he closed the door quietly behind him. "Let us begin the Weighing of the Wands."

"Mr. Garrick Ollivander will be our Wandmaster for today," Dumbledore announced, his voice having taken on an official tone, "Britain's foremost wandmaker of unparalleled skill and knowledge."

Mr. Ollivander bowed deeply to the occupants of the room before stepping forward.

"Let us not delay any longer. Miss Delacour?" he said, holding a hand out to Fleur, who stepped towards the old wandmaker, offering her wand.

Mr. Ollivander considered the wand before speaking, twirling it around his long fingers with a speed and nimbleness belying his age. He stopped spinning the wand, and held it in both hands.

"Very well put together," he said appraisingly, turning it back and forth in his hands. "One of Emilienne's if I am not mistaken."

"It is," Fleur confirmed, a touch of surprise on her face.

"She does some of the most elegant work of our generation," he complimented, looking closely at the base. "Rosewood, with a Veela hair core…"

"My grandmother's," replied Fleur.

"Yes, I can see it is well suited to you… _Orchidius_!" Ollivander said with a wave of Fleur's wand. A multitude of pure white irises flew from the tip of the wand, and settled on the ground in front of Ollivander. Harry looked over at Fleur in time to see her roll her eyes slightly, before putting on a smile for the old wandmaker.

"Thank you," she said, and stepped back to her place next to her headmistress.

"Mr. Krum," Ollivander said, turning towards Krum's resting place in the corner. The lanky Bulgarian offered his wand silently, before stepping back to watch.

"Ah," Ollivander said at once, twirling Krum's wand more slowly than he had Fleur's. "Gregorovitch made this one, correct?"

Krum simply nodded affirmation.

"Finely made, as is to be expected. Heartstring of a dragon and hornbeam. _Avis_!"

A small bird appeared in the air, and slowly fluttered to the floor among the flowers.

"A very obedient wand," Ollivander said, returning the wand to its owner, "and masterfully built."

"Mr. Diggory next."

Cedric moved from his place next to Harry, and offered Ollivander his wand.

"Twelve and a quarter, ash, unicorn tail," Ollivander rattled off as he inspected the wand, though he didn't twirl Cedric's as he had done for Fleur and Krum. After producing silver smoke from the wand tip, he offered it back to Cedric. "I remember making this one, as I do selling it to you seven years ago. It is in fine condition. Well done Mr. Diggory."

Cedric thanked him, taking his wand back, and stepping back to his spot next to Harry.

"Now for Mr. Potter," he said, taking Harry's offered wand. "I remember this one…" he trailed off as he inspected it, turning it slowly in his knobby hands. "Holly and phoenix feather, and well maintained."

Harry held his breath, hoping that Ollivander wouldn't mention that his wand was part of a pair. He didn't necessarily want that bit of information to get out, especially now that he was already in the limelight again as the fourth champion.

After forming a small fountain of red wine from the end of Harry's wand, Ollivander handed the wand back, and stood up straight, addressing the room.

"I pronounce that the wands offered are all in good order, and no alterations have been placed on any of the wands. I deem all four fit to compete," he announced officially, before stepping back from the center of the room.

Once the inspection was completed, Ludo Bagman stepped into the spot vacated by Mr. Ollivander.

"Now that we have that taken care of, it's time to get photos of our champions!" he announced, clapping his hands together.

Harry spent the better part of the next hour being shuffled about by Bagman, the photographer, and the woman with the gaudy glasses, who kept attempting to pull him away from the photo group for a one on one interview. Harry was eventually rescued from being forced to give an interview by Dumbledore, who interceded on his behalf.

"I think that will be quite enough Ms. Skeeter," he said sternly, stepping closer to Harry. "Harry is a minor, and therefore unable to give interviews or statements without the permission of his guardians. The other three champions are bound by no such rules. Perhaps you will find greener pastures with them."

Harry watched as she all but stomped over to where Cedric was standing, and began what sounded like a very uncomfortable interview.

Dumbledore led Harry from the room a few moments later, and escorted him down the hall.

"I would advise you to keep your distance from Rita Skeeter," said Dumbledore, after walking in silence for a few minutes. "She has an unusual knack for digging up information you would rather stay hidden, and filling in any missing details with her own ideas."

"Yes sir," Harry said automatically, though he was surprised by Dumbledore's candidness.

"If she does attempt to approach you again, please refer her to either Professor McGonagall, or myself."

"Yes sir," Harry replied again.

Dumbledore smiled down at Harry in answer, before quickly changing the subject.

"So you've met with the Beauxbatons champion," he said casually, causing Harry to almost stumble in surprise. He hadn't even told Hermione that he'd met Fleur in the owlery.

"Er, yes sir, I did," Harry answered, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I am gratified to see you doing as I have asked, and forming bonds within the other schools. It is not unheard of for champions of the Triwizard Tournament to form lifelong friendships. It is not a title many will share with you, regardless of who actually becomes the Triwizard Champion."

"It was only one conversation," Harry said, feeling transparent under Dumbledore's smiling gaze.

"All great friendships must begin with a first meeting," Dumbledore replied. "Do not discount a single conversation as unimportant, Harry."

"I won't sir," promised Harry.

Dumbledore stopped walking, and turned to Harry. "This is where I will leave you. Please return to your classes, and don't forget what I have said about Ms. Skeeter."

"I won't sir," Harry reiterated. He wanted to avoid the reporter completely if he could manage it.

Without another word, Dumbledore swept down the hallway that contained the gargoyle leading to his office, leaving Harry to walk back to class alone.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry recounted the weighing of the wands, and Dumbledore's warning to Hermione when they returned to Gryffindor tower that evening. He had decided to include Dumbledore's praise about meeting Fleur, even at the risk of more teasing. He didn't want to risk losing his last friend by keeping secrets.

As Harry had predicted, Hermione was unable to keep from commenting on his conversation with Fleur.

"So," she said, feigning slight disinterest, "when did you have the chance to meet up with her?"

"Right after my name came out of the goblet," Harry explained, having resigned himself to telling the whole story the moment he had decided to tell the truth. "When I was taking the letter to…" he trailed off, making sure nobody was sitting within earshot. A loud game of exploding snap between Dean and Ron was doing a good job of keeping their conversation from being overheard. "-to Sirius." he finished quietly, just in case.

Hermione nodded, prompting him further.

"She came up to mail a letter to her dad at the Ministry, and we talked a bit. Nothing special," he said with a shrug.

"That must have been her dad with her at the World Cup," Hermione said after a moment. "Fudge said he was the French Ambassador."

Harry goggled at her for a moment before replying.

"How on earth do you remember things like that?" he asked in amazement. He wasn't sure if he could remember what he'd eaten for breakfast the day before.

"Not all of us had our eyes glued to pretty older witches," Hermione said haughtily.

Harry felt his face flush, and changed the subject.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry began to feel the shadow of the first task fall over him as the days passed. His dread seemed to give extra vigor to the passage of time, as the days seemed to speed by ever faster as the twenty-fourth of November drew nearer. Just when he was sure he couldn't handle the formless nightmares of the first task any longer, Hagrid showed him exactly what form his nightmares needed to take.

Even though it'd been weeks since he and Ron had argued, Harry first instinct was to tell his ex-best-friend about the dragons. He had thought the passage of time would dull the sadness he felt at Ron's departure, but he still found himself turning to where Ron should've been when he wanted to make a crack at Malfoy.

Hermione had wisely counseled him to write to Sirius for ideas, as well as convinced him to tell Cedric of the threat the champions faced. His godfather's reply had been a ray of hope, and had given them a course of action for the final days leading to the first task. He felt confident he could perform the summoning charm by the evening before the first task. Whether he could do it while face to face with a live dragon was another matter entirely.

The day of the first task passed unreasonably fast. Harry felt as though he had just woken up, when he found himself being led to the champion's tent by Professor McGonagall.

"Just do your best Mr. Potter," she said to him when they reached the large tent. "There are precautions in place should things go badly, but I hope they will not be needed."

"Yes ma'am," he answered automatically, though he thought it may have sounded more like a croak than actual words.

Harry saw Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all standing inside the small tent in opposite corners. Small chairs sat in the middle of the room, though none were being used by the four nervous champions. Fleur and Cedric stood white-faced, staring off at nothing, while Krum merely appeared bored. Harry supposed that Krum would also be attempting to fly around the dragon, which likely wouldn't be a problem for the world-class seeker.

"Harry!" Ludo Bagman exclaimed. "Now that you're here, we can get started."

He pulled a small black bag from within his robes, and held it out in front of him.

"In this first task," he announced grandly, "you will be facing off against a _dragon_."

He paused, looking at the faces of each champion for a reaction. Apparently word had gotten to Fleur and Krum as well. Neither looked shocked at the pronouncement.

"Well," Bagman continued, his tone a little disappointed at the lack of reaction, "you won't have to defeat a dragon, but you will be required to secure a special egg from it's nest. Among the eggs in the nest we have placed a special golden egg. You will retrieve it, and cross the goal line. Points will be awarded based upon the speed of completion, ingenuity, and daring. Points will be deducted for injuries to yourself, or destruction of any of the dragon eggs."

After a small briefing on the scoring system, Bagman produced a bag from inside his cloak, and offered it to the champions.

"Inside is a small figure of the dragon you will be competing against. Miss Delacour, please draw first."

Fleur stepped forward, and pulled a small green dragon from the bag.

"A Welsh Green!" Bagman announced as Fleur stepped back into the corner. He offered the bag to Krum, who pulled a Chinese Fireball, and Cedric, who pulled out a small Swedish Short-Snout. When Bagman approached Harry, he had a pitying look on his face.

"Terribly sorry Harry," he said consolingly, as he tipped the last dragon from the bag into Harry's hands. "Rules are rules though, it's got to be random."

Harry looked down at the small dragon figure in his hands, recognizing it from his trip to the dragon pens with Hagrid. It had taken a few volleys of stunners from more than a few witches and wizards to bring the Hungarian Horntail down while he was there. Charlie Weasley had seemed especially worried about the champion that had to face that dragon.

Harry felt his stomach drop as he imagined staring down the large dragon he had seen in the pens. Whoever put his name in the goblet seemed to want him hurt, or killed. He sat heavily into one of the small wooden chairs that had been provided. Seemed like whoever that was just may get their wish.

Through the thin tent walls, Harry heard Mr. Crouch announce the official start of the Triwizard Tournament, and explain to the crowd the challenges of the first task. Once he had finished, Ludo Bagman turned to Krum, and gestured him towards the front of the tent.

"You've been selected to go first," he said, as Krum walked quietly forward. "Best of luck Mr. Krum."

Harry admired Krum's resolve from his place on the chair. His own legs wouldn't support him due to nerves, but Krum stood, rock steady and head held high, waiting for his queue.

"Our first champion for the day," Mr. Crouch's voice called out, "will be Viktor Krum!"

Krum disappeared through the tent flap to the cheers of the onlookers. Bagman followed him out, closing the tent flap behind him.

Harry sat in silence with Fleur and Cedric, who had both taken seats in the chairs.

"So," Cedric said slowly, his voice cracking a little, "have you both got a plan?"

" _Oui_ ," Fleur answered, though she was clearly lost in her own thoughts.

"Sort of," Harry managed, though he wasn't feeling confident in his plan to fly on a broom made of wood around a fire breathing dragon.

Cedric gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Me too. Thanks for telling me about them Harry," Cedric said gratefully. "I'd probably be burnt to a crisp otherwise."

Cedric statement seemed to shake Fleur from her thoughts, and she gave Harry a surprised look.

Before they could speak any further, a cheer rose from the crowd that seemed to signal Krum's triumph. Ludo Bagman's amplified voice called out over the cheers, confirming that Krum had managed to successfully complete his challenge.

"Up next," Bagman called, causing the three of them to stiffen, all waiting to hear their name, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Cedric stood slowly, seemingly unsure if he'd be able to stand.

"Good luck," Cedric called over his shoulder as he walked towards the tent flap.

"You too," chorused Harry and Fleur before he too vanished to face his dragon.

A cheer arose once again as the tent flap fell shut, leaving Harry and Fleur alone in the tent. Months before, Harry would have been a mixture of overjoyed and extremely nervous to know he'd be alone in a tent with Fleur. With the threat of pending incineration present though, he only felt nervous for the task ahead.

"You told him of the dragons?" she asked, once the cheers died down.

"Yeah," Harry said simply. "You found out too?"

"A certain amount of…impropriety is to be expected during the Triwizard Tournament. It's as much a traditional part of the tournament as the Goblet of Fire."

"Nobody told me that," Harry groused. He didn't mean to sound petulant, but the unfairness of his situation was beginning to wear on him. He began to worry that he'd annoyed her, when he saw her features grow angry.

"It is certainly unfair that you were entered into the tournament against your will," she said angrily, her blue eyes flashing, "but that is no reason that it should continue to be made more difficult for you!"

Harry blinked in surprise as she finished. He'd been expecting her to finish with a 'but quit whining about it' or a 'grow up'. He hadn't been expecting yet more outrage on his behalf.

Before he could express his gratitude, another cheer cut through the crowd drowning out anything he might have said.

"Well done!" came Bagman's voice again, booming over the cheers. "Fast and effective! I expect he'll get high marks for this one!"

After Fleur's name was called, she offered Harry a nervous smile before leaving him alone in the tent.

Determined not to get too caught up in worry, he settled on repeating ' _Accio Firebolt'_ over and over. He figured the repetition may help him manage to get the words out even when being stared down by the giant dragon.

A lethargic cheer went up from the crowd minutes later as Fleur seemed to successfully complete her challenge as well. Harry wasn't given the opportunity to wonder at the less than enthusiastic reaction, as his name was quickly called by Mr. Bagman, who sounded as though he was stifling a yawn.

Harry braced himself, forcing his shaking body to walk out of the tent, and into the glaring sunlight. He was met by a chorus of jeers from the Hogwarts students, which he had expected. He was surprised, and grateful to see the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students cheering enthusiastically for him, while shooting puzzled looks over at the students from his own school.

"Ready Harry?" Bagman asked from his place next to the tent, his voice back to normal.

Harry merely nodded, finding that his voice had abandoned him.

Forcing his legs to move, he took a stiff step forward, looking down into the massive rocky enclosure that housed his foe. The Hungarian Horntail stared back at him, having already marked Harry as a threat. The cheers and jeers of the crowd faded into a dull roar as he looked into the eyes of the dragon. He knew he had to summon his Firebolt, but could barely lift his hand. His mouth felt as though he'd been denied water for weeks. He licked his dry lips, trying again to force his body to do his bidding. If he didn't make an attempt here, he'd never be able to cast the summoning charm again, or anything else for that matter. The thought of a life outside of the magical world finally brought his body back under control, and he was able to lift his arm.

' _Accio Firebolt'_ he called, his wand held high. In moments he saw his broom speeding towards him from the castle. He hopped on when it stopped next to him, and kicked off the ground. As he flew high into the air, he saw the dragon tracking him, though it made no move to leave the next that held Harry's objective.

He gripped the broom handle so hard he was sure it might crack underneath his grip, and began a dive at the dragon. The wind rushed by him, roaring in his ears. He tried to visualize the egg underneath the dragon as the golden snitch, and the head and tail of the dragon as especially vicious bludgers that were out to get him. A large burst of flame shattered the illusion as he was forced to abandon his dive, and take refuge behind a cluster of large rocks that had been placed in the arena.

He floated behind the rocks, checking to make sure the tail of his broom hadn't been caught in the flames. The perfectly aligned twigs appeared untouched, and he let out a sigh of relief. The Horntail gave a roar of frustration when Harry didn't emerge, and he heard it begin moving towards him. He couldn't believe his luck, he may be able to stay out of sight of the dragon and snatch the unguarded egg before it ever noticed him. He listened as hard as he could, trying to judge which direction the Horntail was coming from, floating slowly around the large rocks to stay opposite the dragon.

He turned, and flew slowly around other rock outcroppings behind him, taking care not to brush or bump any of the large boulders, and give away his position. He slowly made his way through the maze of rocks, pausing whenever he heard the Horntail moving to try and find him. He could feel his heart trying to beat it's way out of his chest as he neared the backside of the dragon's nest. As he came around the last rock formation between him and the nest, he saw the large golden egg glinting in the sunlight. He couldn't believe it, he was mere feet from grabbing the egg, and speeding towards the exit.

He leaned forward on his broom, and sped towards the nest. The egg was larger than a snitch, but he figured he would only need to slow down for a moment to grab it, before completely opening up the firebolt and racing for the exit. He locked his gaze on the egg, and leaned to the right to grab it as he passed by. It was not as heavy as he'd been expecting, and easily righted himself on the broom. Once secure, he turned towards the exit, holding tight to his prize.

The shouts of the crowd dimly registered in his mind as he began hurtling towards the arena exit. It was the only warning he got before the Hungarian Horntail lunged towards him from the left, a jet of furious fire shooting towards him. He knew he was going too fast to avoid the flames completely, and pushed the Firebolt for every last ounce of speed it could muster. He ducked his head to his chest trying to protect his face and egg from the flames, and barrelled through the fiery dragon's breath. He felt the heat hit him like a wall, and throw him from his broom. He could feel the left side of his body protesting the heat as he sailed through, his momentum carrying him toward the exit.

He opened his right eye as he fell toward the exit, happy to see that even though it would be a hard impact, he'd land outside the arena, and complete the task. He'd broken arms before, at least he'd complete the requirements of the magical contract. He closed his eye as he passed through the exit, bracing himself for the hard impact with the ground.

The impact never came, as he landed in what felt like a massive pillow. He opened his eye again, to see a ghostly pale Professor McGonagall running towards him, her wand in hand.

"Don't move Mr. Potter," she said weakly, slowing down as she neared him. He tried to open his mouth, to tell her that he was fine since he didn't hit the ground, but he couldn't seem to get it open. He could only manage a hoarse, rough noise from somewhere in the back of his throat.

" _Do not speak,"_ his head of house commanded as she walked alongside him. He realized that the soft pillow seemed to be carrying him away from the arena. Before he could ask where they were going, he heard the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey, though she seemed significantly more upset than he ever remembered her being. He turned his head to greet her, and tried to tell her that he was fine.

"Don't move!" she exclaimed as he turned his head towards her. He frowned in confusion, though he only felt the right side of his mouth turn down. He let go of the golden egg in his right hand, and lifted it towards his face. Somewhere far away, he felt his body vehemently protest his movement, but he wasn't given the chance to investigate. He saw Madam Pomfrey gesture to Professor McGonagall.

He heard a whispered ' _Stupify'_ from behind him, and his world went dark.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry awoke suddenly to what he thought appeared to be a familiar blurry scene. He reached a hand out to the bedside table he knew to be nearby, and plucked his glasses from their resting place. Once the hospital wing was back in focus, he sat slowly up in his bed and surveyed the room. It seemed to be midday, as the sun shone bright through the frosty windows on either side of the room.

Harry stopped in his examination of the room as the information sank in. Frosty windows? Just how long had he been asleep? He slowly twisted in bed, moving his legs to dangle off the side of the bed. Before he could stand, the door to Madam Pomfrey's office swung open, and the mediwitch hurried over to where Harry sat.

"Lie down," she commanded in a tone that Harry was quite accustomed to. He obeyed, swinging his legs back on the bed, allowing her to pass her wand over his body.

"How do you feel?" she asked as her wand traced his left leg.

"Thirsty," he said, his voice rough from disuse.

"Water on the bedside table," Madam Pomfrey replied, her attention locked on her wand and his leg.

After a couple glasses of water, he lay back down, allowing Madam Pomfrey access to his left arm.

"How do you feel?" she repeated.

"Okay I guess," he said with a shrug. The motion seemed to pull his left arm up off the bed a little, before letting it drop when his shoulder lowered.

Madam Pomfrey looked approvingly at the hand that just dropped, and continued her assessment.

"The skin isn't quite as elastic as it should be, but that's to be expected. You'll have to 'break it in' as it were."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, trying to think back to the last thing he remembered. "Did Professor McGonagall stun me?"

Madam Pomfrey finally stopped her examination and fixed him with a surprisingly sad gaze.

"What do you remember?" she asked gently.

"I remember picking up the golden egg," he began, scrunching up his brow in thought. "And getting kicked off my broom by that blast of fire. I remember falling through the exit and being caught by a big pillow. Then I remember hearing Professor McGonagall stun me."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily.

"To answer your question, Minerva did indeed stun you, but it was for your own good."

She raised a hand, forestalling any of Harry's questions.

"Mr. Potter, you weren't thrown from your broom in that dragon's burst of fire, it was incinerated out from under you."

Harry almost sat upright in surprise at her words, but her firm hand on his chest kept him down as she continued.

"You suffered third degree burns over the majority of the left side of your body from flying through the dragon's flame. Minerva caught you as you fell with the cushioning charm, and was levitating you toward the medical tent. I had her stun you so you wouldn't cause any extra damage to yourself by moving around."

"So I've been in the hospital wing since then?" he asked, trying to wrap his head around what he'd been told.

"Goodness no," Madam Pomfrey said as she concluded her examination. "I'm not able to treat such significant injuries here. You were transported to the medical tent where you stayed until Professor Snape was able to bring some Draught of Living Death for you."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the pronouncement.

"We couldn't very well keep stunning you over and over until you recovered now could we," she said in answer to his expression. "After that you were taken by floo to St. Mungo's, where you stayed for two weeks, before being returned to Hogwarts. You were given the antidote to the draught this morning."

Harry attempted to process what he'd heard. He looked down at his left arm, which felt as though it were wrapped in something a little too tight.

"They had to regrow the skin on your left side," Madam Pomfrey said bluntly, following his gaze. "There's not much else they can do in cases like that. You'll notice differences all over your body from the regrowth process, even on your uninjured side. That scar you got from the compound fracture in your second year is gone," she said, pointing to his right arm where his bone had pierced the skin when he fell from his broom during a match in his second year. Harry ignored her gesture, his right hand flying to his forehead, where he felt the all too familiar ridges of his lightning bolt scar.

"Not that one," said Madam Pomfrey gently, "we all know that one is a little different."

Harry nodded mutely, letting his arm fall to his side.

"Naturally, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley have been to see you while you were unconscious. Mr. Diggory and the Beauxbatons champion stopped by as well once you had returned. They were the only students besides the Durmstrang champion to see your condition in the medical tent, so they were happy to see you have recovered."

Harry nodded again, though on the inside his mind was racing. Ron had come to visit him as well? He wasn't sure he liked the way it took being severely injured by a dragon to make Ron believe that he hadn't entered the tournament on his own, but he did like the idea of having his friend back.

Madam Pomfrey produced a small red ball from a pocket, and tapped it with her wand, muttering something under her breath. Once finished, the ball floated slowly out of her hand, and into the air, making lazy figure-eights in front of him.

"In order to regain full motion on your left side, you'll need to work on stretching it out by catching this with your left hand. When you catch it, I want you to bend your left leg as far as is comfortable, then lower it when you've caught the ball again. Repeat this, trying to bend your leg further each time. The ball will get incrementally faster as you catch it, so don't be surprised if it becomes more difficult. Once your arm grows too tired, let me know, and we'll get you some dinner."

Harry nodded, raising his left hand slowly into the air to try and grab the moving ball. Before his first attempt, he remembered something he'd wanted to ask Madam Pomfrey since she had begun answering his questions.

"What day is it, ma'am?" he asked as she walked away from his bed.

"It is December fifteenth."

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon trying to grapple with everything he'd been told, while absentmindedly attempting to catch the small flying ball, and bending his leg as he'd been instructed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

After being released from the hospital wing,Harry sat anxiously on the edge of his four poster bed, rolling the golden egg around his hands. He had returned to find the egg sitting atop his pillow, though he had been too distracted waiting for Ron and Hermione's return from Hogsmeade to investigate the egg much at all. Just when he thought he may go down and wait in the warmer common room for them, the door to the dormitory swung open, revealing a red-nosed Ron dressed in a heavy winter cloak.

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, his wide eyes fixed on Harry. Before Harry could say anything, Run turned and shouted down the stairs.

" _Hermione!_ " he called out, his voice cracking from the volume of his shout.

Harry heard hard footsteps running up the stairs, and a similarly garbed Hermione slid by Ron and into the dorm. She too came up short when she saw him, as though she couldn't believe her eyes. Her pause was short lived, as she quickly barreled into him, embracing him in a hug that knocked him flat onto the bed.

He was grateful that she was so happy to see him, and patted her back a little awkwardly. He still didn't like being hugged so intensely, but he enjoyed the sentiment.

"I'm sorry!" she said, quickly letting him go and standing up, straightening her heavy cloak. "I know you don't-we were so worried!" Her voice came out high and fast, and she was wiping at her eyes with the cuff of her robes.

Harry looked over at Ron, who nodded agreement, before breaking eye contact with Harry and looking at the floor.

"I'm okay," Harry said, getting to his feet. "Almost good as new."

"They wouldn't tell us how badly you'd been hurt," Hermione said, her voice still slightly hysterical. "but they did say that you'd been taken to St. Mungos. Hagrid said that dragon's fire can get up to ten thousand degrees, depending on the breed. I tried to ask Fleur and Cedric about it, but they would only go pale, and not say anything."

"It's okay," Harry said, "I'm okay now. No need to worry about it."

Hermione looked torn between wanting to protest, and wanting to take Harry's offer and forget it ever happened.

She was saved having to make a decision by Ron, who spoke up for the first time.

"Your hand looks really strange," he said, pointing to Harry's left hand, "it hasn't got any wrinkles on the knuckles. Looks like a bunch of sausage links."

" _Ron!"_ Hermione said, looking angrily over at him, but Harry began to laugh.

"I thought the same thing," Harry said, rolling up his sleeve to expose his elbow. "There's no crease here, behind my knee, or on my toes either."

"That's mental," Ron said, leaning in for a closer look.

"Yeah," Harry said, offering his arm for the both of them to look at. "They had to regrow all the skin, so I have to 'break it in' I guess." He could tell that this was the wrong thing to say, as both his friends grew immediately somber.

"How much did they have to regrow?" Hermione asked quietly, her eyes locked on his hand, rather than his eyes.

"Madam Pomfrey said it was pretty much my whole left side," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"You got third degree burns over your entire left side?!" Hermione asked, her voice rising a little hysterically. "Harry that could have killed you! No wonder Fleur and Cedric didn't want to talk about it."

"About that," Ron said quite loudly, startling both Harry, Hermione, and apparently himself, as the redhead seemed surprised that he had spoken.

"Er, about the goblet thing," he clarified, his eyes on the floor. "I'm really sorry Harry. I was way out of line. I know you didn't put your name in the goblet. I knew it even before the whole dragon thing, but I thought you might not want to talk to me after the way I acted."

He seemed to gather himself, and quickly barreled on.

"When we saw you fly through that fire, and fall toward the ground…" he trailed off. "Well, like Hermione said, we were worried. I thought I might not get the chance to tell you I was sorry, so I wanted to do it as soon as I could, whether you still wanted to be my friend or not."

"It's okay," Harry said after a moment. The sting of Ron's accusations still hurt, but he knew he'd get over it eventually. He hoped he would anyway. He'd rather have things back to normal than stew on his anger.

Ron grinned tentatively at Harry, and Harry returned the smile, grateful to have things back as they should be.

Hermione muttered something under her breath that suspiciously sounded like ' _finally'_ , but then spoke up.

"Professor McGonagall told us to send you to her as soon as you were back. She said she's got information for you about the second task, and the Yule Ball."

"The Yule Ball?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Ron groaned in answer, gesturing towards his trunk.

"It's the reason for those hideous dress robes. On Christmas night there's going to be a massive dance. I expect McGonagall will tell you all about it. You'll have to find a date too, though I expect the 'tragic hero' angle won't hurt your chances."

" _Ronald!"_ Hermione admonished again, giving him a swat on the arm.

Harry quickly searched Ron's face for any sign of jealousy or irritation, but found only genuine mirth, and laughed along with his friend at Hermione's outrage. Despite the strange feeling lingering in his left arm and leg, Harry felt better than he had in months.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sit down, Mr. Potter ," Professor McGonagall said as Harry entered her classroom.

After speaking at length with Ron and Hermione about what he'd missed while unconscious, he sought out his head of house as instructed. Her usually stern visage was more tired than anything, as she shuffled stacks of essays around on her desk to make a small space in front of her. She clasped her hands together on the small empty space on the desk, and motioned to the seat in front of her desk.

"I am _very_ happy to see you well," Professor McGonagall said as Harry sat down, her tone far kinder, and gentler than he had ever heard before..

"Thank you Professor," he replied.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her green eyes locked on Harry's own.

He turned away from her intent gaze, and stared down at his left hand where it rested on the desk.

"Pretty good actually," Harry replied truthfully, flexing his left hand slowly. "Though still a little stiff."

"Poppy explained the extent of your injuries?"

Harry nodded in reply.

"I asked you here for a number of reasons Mr. Potter. Foremost of which, I wanted to apologize for stunning you, and to let you know that I would not have done it were it not in your best interest."

"That's what Madam Pomfrey said," Harry replied sincerely, "I understand, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded, before quickly shifting subjects.

"As much as I'd prefer to allow you some time to recuperate, time marches onward, and you still must participate in the second and third tasks."

Harry suppressed a groan. Somehow, in all the madness surrounding the first task and the following events, he'd managed to forget that he had to do it two more times.

"Regarding the second task," she began, slipping away from her more gentle tone back into her brisk lecturing one. "I had the golden egg you secured delivered to your dormitory. It will be your clue as to the nature of the second task. The other champions have had three weeks to examine their clues, so I suggest you get to work as quickly as you are able. The second task will take place on the twenty-fourth of February."

Harry once again nodded mutely, the weight of the tournament settling on him once again.

"We must also discuss the Yule Ball."

"Ron and Hermione mentioned it," Harry said, recalling Ron's awful, frilly dress robes that he'd received at the Burrow. "They said we need dates."

"That is correct," answered Professor McGonagall, her mouth a thin line that seemed to suggest some sort of disapproval.

"I would prefer to just skip it, Professor," Harry said, hoping that, for once, his head of house would be lenient.

"You, out of everyone, must go," she replied. "The champions are the ones who traditionally open the ball with a dance."

"But I'm not even a _real_ champion," Harry said desperately, "and I don't even know how to dance."

"Then I would suggest that you practice," she said, blatantly ignoring his protest. "The ball is restricted to students of fourth year and above, but you may invite someone from the younger years if you wish. I trust you purchased dress robes as you were instructed?"

"Yes Professor," Harry answered defeatedly, realizing that he hadn't actually opened the package Mrs. Weasley had picked up for him. He hoped it wasn't a matching set to Ron's robes.

"The ball is on Christmas night from eight until midnight. You and your date will arrive outside the great hall at seven thirty to prepare for the opening dance."

Harry fought the urge to let his head hit the desk. He didn't want to have to find a date, or dance in front of all three schools.

"It is a part of the tournament," she continued, "and as such, you must attend, or I assure you that I would excuse you from the event."

"Thank you Professor," Harry replied resignedly.

"I must finish grading these essays before the end of the night," she said, casting a tired glance over the mounds of parchment in front of her, "so I must ask that you return to your dormitory. Get some rest, and work on that clue."

"Yes, Professor," he said automatically as he stood, and walked from the room.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning saw little improvement for Harry. A few people expressed their relief that he was doing better, but most of the school seemed to have been driven further down the 'Support Cedric Diggory' path, being led by Malfoy. Harry mostly agreed with them, thinking that Cedric was the only _true_ champion Hogwarts had, but he could do without the anti-Harry sentiment that went along with it.

During breakfast, a large gray owl landed in front of Harry, a familiar script with the letters 'HP' adorning the front. Harry was surprised to get a letter from Sirius so quickly. His heart began to pound as he opened the short parchment.

 _Harry,_

 _On the move. Coming back. No letters. See you soon._

-S

Harry couldn't decide if he was ecstatic that he may be able to see Sirius in the flesh again, or horrified that his godfather would be in danger of being caught again. Guilt began to gnaw at his insides as he realized that he was probably the reason Sirius was returning to Britain. He silently handed over the letter to Hermione and Ron, who were both looking at him quizzically, noticing his sudden turn of mood. He ignored Hermione's quiet speculations as he ate, trying to combat the anxiety roiling inside him.

One thing he did appreciate, however, was Ron's mood. His friend was acting as though nothing had been amiss between them the past few weeks, and Harry found it rather easy to play along. At times he almost forgot what had happened, but not long after he would catch himself worrying about how Ron would react to something he said, or the words he chose, and the illusion was shattered. He hoped someday to return to the level of amiability he had previously enjoyed with Ron, but until then, he couldn't help but be a little extra cautious.

The three of them had spent the whole morning after breakfast trying to figure out the egg. They had been thrown out of the common room after opening it for the first time. The loud shriek that issued from the open egg caused most people nearby to wince in pain before throwing their hands up to their ears. They had spent the rest of the day out on the grounds, trying to stay warm as they examined the strange egg.

Harry's day took a strange turn after they disbanded after lunch. Harry had asked for some time alone after the frustrating morning. Between a standard, less than pleasant encounter with Malfoy, his still too-tight skin on his left side, and the ringing that hadn't yet faded from his ears from the egg, Harry was eager for some peace and quiet, away from everybody. He had settled on a stone bench in an empty courtyard, when a plain brown owl landed next to him, a small piece of parchment attached to it's leg. Harry accepted the small letter, which was adorned with two thin curvy letters, 'HP'. He opened it, and read the unfamiliar handwriting inside.

 _Harry,_

 _I apologize for using an owl to contact you, but I could not think of another way to reach you without wandering through Hogwarts hoping to bump into you. I was hoping you'd be able to meet with me this evening. I have some things I would like to discuss with you, and I'd prefer it be done away from others._

 _If you're interested, please meet me by the stairs to the second floor at eight. I know it sounds strange, but as I mentioned before, I prefer to walk the castle at night._

 _I hope you're able to meet me, though I would certainly understand if not. This is a rather sudden request._

 _-Fleur_

Harry had to read the letter twice to be sure he'd understood what it said. Fleur wanted to meet with him? His golden egg spent the rest of the afternoon ignored, as Harry tried to figure out why she could possibly want to meet with him. He dropped his egg off in his dorm just before dinner, and made his way alone to the great hall.

He was surprised to find neither Hermione nor Ron at the Gryffindor table. Ginny told him, through a few giggles, that Ron was in the hospital wing, having apparently been tricked into eating an enlarging candy that caused his nose to grow ten times its normal size. No one had heard from Hermione, and Harry suspected she had either opted to skip dinner to keep researching, or forgotten about it completely.

Harry's nerves rose to new heights as eight o'clock grew closer. He'd run through a multitude of possible reasons why Fleur would want to talk to him, but none of them seemed likely. He made sure to head towards the second floor staircase a little early, and was surprised to find her already waiting for him.

Exchanging nothing more than a quiet 'hello', Fleur led him to an unused classroom just down the hall from where they'd met.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me tonight," Fleur said once they'd closed the classroom door behind them.

"Er, no problem," replied Harry, standing awkwardly next to the door. His eyes darted around the dusty room as a traitorous part of his brain reminded him of the things he'd heard, and accidentally seen, couples doing in abandoned classrooms during his late night walks. He hid his burning face by moving towards a desk and taking a seat.

"I asked you here for a few reasons," she began, her lightly accented voice clear and confident. She strode over, closer to where he was sitting. "Firstly was to see how you were doing."

The sudden blunt statement caught Harry off guard. "I'm fine," Harry answered automatically, wondering why Fleur even cared, before a memory of Madam Pomfrey made him pause. She had been one of the few people to see how badly he had been burned by the Horntail. He looked up a her from his seat, and was shocked to find a surprisingly concerned look upon her face.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said quietly. "Your injuries were severe."

"So I was told," he replied quietly, shifting his gaze away from her pale face.

"I will admit," Fleur said after a moment, breaking a small silence that had settled between them, "that seeing the extent of your injuries served to illustrate the true dangers we face in this competition."

Harry merely nodded, though he felt as though he had taken the tournament seriously from the start. He had been almost sure he was going to be killed when he had heard that the first task was going to be dragons, and he fully recognized that it was a miracle that he survived at all.

"When you were levitated into the medical tent," continued Fleur, her soft voice quiet, "I didn't recognize you at first."

Harry watched her as she spoke, unsure of the direction of the conversation. He had been told the extent of his injuries, and was intensely grateful that he couldn't remember much of anything. His nightmares didn't need any more fuel than they already had. He watched her as she stood up from where she had been leaning, and began to slowly pace the front of the room while gently pulling on a handful of her silvery-blonde hair.

"I must admit something to you," she said, her back to him.

"Okay," Harry replied slowly, unsure of what else he might say. He was surprised she wanted to speak with him at all, let alone feel the need to confide in him.

"It is a terrible thing to say," she said, still not facing him, "but the first thing I felt when I saw you in that tent was a sense of regret."

Harry remained silent, unsure of what to say. He hadn't expected her to feel anything about his injuries, not to mention why she'd be feeling any regret, or why that would be so terrible. At least someone cared he'd been hurt. He immediately shook the thought. Hermione _and_ Ron had come to check on him.

"I…" she began, snapping him back to reality. She turned back towards him, anxiety written plainly on her features. "I suppose I should be honest," she finished, turning her eyes away from him and down to the floor.

Harry sat, completely flabbergasted by the conversation that was taking place. He felt as though he were dreaming. Privately, he had hoped for the opportunity to talk to Fleur again after their meeting in the owlery. He certainly hadn't expected her to come seek him out, and hadn't expected a serious discussion, this strange confession of regret, or her apparent nervousness. In the multitude of scenarios he'd run through in his mind before their meeting, not a one of them had featured _her_ as the nervous one.

"Do you recall," she began, her eyes moving from the floor to a nearby window, it's edges covered with light frost, "when we met in the owlery, and I told you that I had enjoyed our conversation?"

"Yes," Harry answered simply. He recalled the whole conversation in vivid detail. She had been the first person to tell him that they believed he hadn't put his name in the goblet.

"Would it surprise you to know," she said slowly, her hand unconsciously twirling her hair through her fingers, "that I enjoyed our conversation because it was the first _real_ one I've had with someone outside my family since I was a small girl?"

Harry was unsure how to reply to the question, but when he looked at her, he saw the expectation of a response in her features.

"Well," he said finally, "yeah, it would."

Fleur smiled at him, though he thought it seemed a little sad. "I expect many would feel the same," she said, her sad smile falling as she sighed. "What do you know of Veela?"

"Not much," Harry admitted, hastily thinking back to the things Hermione had said. "My friend said they have an allure or something, and I saw the ones at the world cup transform into big birds."

"That is usually the extent of people's knowledge of us," said Fleur, her gaze still locked on some distant point through the icy window. "It is the 'allure', that I wish to speak of first."

Harry waited patiently while Fleur appeared to gather her thoughts. He had been curious about the allure ever since he'd heard Hermione mention it, but hadn't remembered to look into it after the insanity that had followed the tournament.

"What do you know of the 'allure'," she asked finally.

"Not much," Harry admitted again. "Ron said it made his mind all fuzzy, and Hermione said it wouldn't work on her because she's a girl. She also said it's rare to resist the allure of a Veela."

"I see," Fleur said, "again, that is the common knowledge about us. It is what is usually found when Veela are mentioned in textbooks and literature. It is not wholly inaccurate, just incomplete."

Harry sat in rapt attention. He had wanted to get to know her better, but hadn't dared hoped that she'd sit down and teach him about herself.

"Firstly, the 'allure' is not so simple as making a man's mind go fuzzy with attraction." She paused, absentmindedly chewing her lip as she thought, clearly choosing her words carefully.

To Harry's surprise, he found her even more attractive when she did so. He wondered if he was indeed immune to her 'allure', or whatever it was.

"Many people believe the 'allure' is simply magical attraction, captivating the attention of men with lust," explained Fleur, her hesitant tone gradually shifting to one of a classroom lecture as she sat down on one of the desks, and crossed her legs. "The word 'allure' is actually a misnomer, as it is less related to say, a Siren's song, than it is to passive legilimency."

"Legilimency?"

"The magical art of mind reading," answered Fleur, shocking Harry to the bone. He had no idea it was possible for people to read thoughts. The idea of someone pulling his secrets from his mind repulsed and frightened him. He could feel fear begin to bloom in his chest.

"My ability is not so direct," Fleur said, apparently noticing his disquiet, "but your friend was right about one thing, it is a rarity to be wholly immune to it's touch."

"I'm immune?" Harry asked, silently grateful that she was unable to probe his thoughts, or whatever is was she could do.

"It would seem so," she replied, flashing him a genuine smile. "But we will get to that. I don't want you to think I walk around being able to read people's thoughts and secrets just by being near them."

Harry attempted to push down his anxiety. She had an amazing knack for voicing his thoughts for someone who supposedly couldn't read them.

"Rather than read thoughts as a Legilimens can, my ability probes people's general emotions, and turns them favorably towards myself. The word 'allure' is a misnomer only because the method of it is more complex than a simple lust potion, as many seem to believe it is.

"My ability reaches out to those nearby, senses their current emotional state, and shifts it so that I become the focus of their attention. If it is unable to shift their attention, then they are immune."

"So why is it limited to men, if it's just about emotion?" Harry asked, recalling

Hermione's explanation in the great hall.

Fleur sighed, letting go of the strands of silvery hair she had been playing with. "Because it is true that there is an element of lust and attraction inherent in the allure. It does not work on your friend, not because she is a girl, but because she is not homosexual. If she were, her attention would be drawn the same as anyone else. Homosexual men are similarly unaffected."

"I'm not-" Harry began quickly, but was cut off by Fleur raising her hand to forestall him.

"I know," she said simply. "I can feel the allure attempt, and fail, to change their feelings towards me. With you, it simply cannot grab onto you. I cannot feel your emotions the way I feel others. It is not so dissimilar from the way my ability reacts to occlumens, though I doubt you are an accomplished occlumens. Every occlumens I've met are far older than we are."

"You can feel their emotions?" Harry asked. "And what's an occlumens?" He felt as though he might prefer having his emotions read to his mind, but he still abhorred the idea.

"Occlumency is the counter to legilimency, which I mentioned earlier. It is the magical art of locking your mind away from intrusion. As for your other question, it's not as though I can feel exactly what they're feeling," she said, shrugging. "It's not so much that I get a sense that they're happy, or sad, but I can tell how their feelings are changed by the allure in order to draw them to me. An angry person's emotions must be altered differently to those of a happy person to achieve the same result. Over the years I have learned to discern the feelings of others based upon the way the allure must affect them."

"Seems…a little overwhelming," Harry said, trying to imagine what it'd be like to feel everyone's mood all the time.

"It can be," she said, again offering him a smile, "but it's more like hearing a constant noise all the time. You learn to tune it out."

"But you can't feel my feelings at all?" asked Harry, desperate for clarification.

"No," Fleur said, still smiling, "and that's why I brought it up. To go back to what I was saying before, I felt regret when I saw you enter that tent, because you are the only person I have spoken to in years that is unaffected by my abilities. I had hoped to spend more time speaking with you, and I thought I had missed that chance."

Before he could think of a suitable reply, she broke the silence in a quiet voice.

"I know," she said suddenly somber, her eyes down on her shoes, "it's a terrible and selfish thing to say, but I thought we might…" she trailed off, letting out a small sigh. "I thought we might still talk...sometimes."

Harry goggled at her. He couldn't fathom why she might think it a 'terrible' or 'selfish' thing to say, but he certainly didn't think it was. He was surprised to see such a tentative side to the woman he'd watched be so aloof and graceful. He heard a small voice in his head remind him that he regularly put up a happy front for the world to see.

The realization hit him like a lightning strike, and shocked him just as much. She must be even lonelier than he was, since she didn't even have the benefit of two friends like he did. He realized the silence was dragging on, and looked over at Fleur, who was picking at the sleeves of her heavy winter cloak.

"It's fine," he said quickly, hoping he could cheer her up. "I don't mind."

"That is a kind thing to say," she said as she finally looked up at him, "but even asking you here today was for selfish reasons. I told you those things hoping that you would say something like that, just so I could have someone to talk with. Even seeing if you were okay was self-serving. I wanted to see you healed so maybe I can stop seeing...that other you...the burned one from the tent...in my nightmares." She swallowed thickly as she looked down again. Harry's skin erupted in gooseflesh at her words, how close he'd come to death finally seeping into understanding. "I had hoped we could maybe become friends someday, but I thought it was fair you know what kind of person I am first," Fleur finished.

"It's really fine," Harry repeated, his mouth dry. He felt far out of his depth. He wanted her to feel better, but had no idea what to say. He couldn't even make Hermione feel better when she was upset, and he'd known her for years.

"I don't think you're all that bad," he continued, "not that I think you're bad at all. Or that I know you better than you know you. Or…" he trailed off, desperately wishing he were better at that sort of thing.

Rather than be upset at him like he had expected, she laughed lightly before smiling shyly at him.

"You are very earnest," she said, her blue eyes captivating him. "Thank you, Harry."

He couldn't control the small smile that pulled at his mouth as well. Her minor French accent made it sound as though his name was missing it's first letter. It felt unaccountably personal, like a nickname. He'd never had a nickname before, or at least not one worthwhile. He shook the thoughts of his family and his unwanted magical moniker from his mind and looked back up at Fleur, who seemed much more relaxed.

"I did say there were a few reasons I wanted to talk to you today," she said after a moment. "I also wanted to give you a hint about the second task and the egg."

"You did?" Harry asked, his eyes widening. He had tried to figure out the egg ever since Professor McGonagall had told him he was behind the other champions, but had so far had no luck.

"I also felt terrible that I didn't warn you of the dragons when I found out they were to be our challenge," she explained.

"I mean, I didn't tell you either," Harry mumbled, his face suddenly hot with shame.

"That is true," she replied, "so I suppose we are even."

"I told Cedric though," Harry said miserably. He was sure he was going to lose this new friend of his before he had gotten a chance to know her.

"Which was noble. You were not required to tell anyone, and the fact that you told one person instead of everyone does not diminish that." She waited until he finally looked up at her before continuing. "I want to be a good friend," she said bluntly, catching Harry by surprise, "and a good friend would help you through this ordeal which you did not ask for."

"Thank you," Harry said thickly.

"Next time you are able, put your egg underwater," Fleur said in reply. "It'll make that dreadful noise useful."

Harry nodded. Hopefully the tournament would be a little less dangerous with an actual champion helping him out.

"So how are your injuries feeling?" Fleur asked, surprising Harry with the shift in topic.

"Just fine actually," Harry replied, looking down at his left hand. As the days went on, it was beginning to look more and more like his regular hand. "Even just after waking up it didn't hurt, it only felt a little strange."

"I'm glad," Fleur said. "Though I don't expect you'll need to worry about fire much during the second task," she added with a grimace.

"You know what it is?" Harry asked in surprise. He'd assumed she was still working it out if the only clue she gave him was to put the egg underwater.

"I believe so," Fleur answered with a nod, "but it is against the rules for me to tell you exactly what the task is, even though hints are acceptable."

"How does the magic even know?" Harry asked frustratedly. The tournament rules felt like shackles on him, but he couldn't fathom how this 'binding contract' with the goblet was so all-knowing.

"I wish I knew," replied Fleur. "It is fascinating though, is it not? Such ancient enchantments that are so meticulous and well placed that they continue to work centuries later, and have such far reaching detective capabilities. The goblet is an impressive magical artifact, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," Harry agreed, more keen on avoiding a conflict of opinion with his new friend, than voicing his true thoughts on the goblet. "You might talk with my friend Hermione though, she's probably been trying to figure out how it works for fun."

He watched as Fleur went from her excited interest about the magic surrounding the Goblet of Fire to almost noticeably withdrawing into herself.

"I don't usually get along well with other women," Fleur said quietly. "they find me threatening, or become jealous of my appearance." She waved her hand irritably around in the air, gesturing to her face.

"Sorry," Harry replied immediately. "It just seemed like something she'd be interested in. I don't think she dislikes you or anything," he added after a moment, "the most she's said about you is telling Ron that it's unlikely that you're Veela."

"I suppose," Fleur said after a moment, "that I could try meeting her eventually." She gave Harry a shy smile that made his heart race. "I'm not very good at meeting people," she admitted, "for real, that is."

"For real?" Harry echoed, confused.

"Sometimes it's easier for me to smile, nod, and 'be pretty' like people expect me to, rather than to try and be genuine with them." She laughed a humorless laugh before continuing. "I already grow tired of acting, though I will need to do more of it now that my Father works within Britain's Ministry." She looked up at Harry again. "Again, I think you understand this as well."

Harry nodded, thinking back to the world cup where he saw Fleur put on a smile for the Minister, the same way he did for those who wanted to meet the Boy-Who-Lived, instead of Harry Potter.

"Regarding that, er, somewhat," Fleur continued, her fluent speech stuttering for the first time since he'd met her. He looked at her, and saw that she was again feeling extremely apprehensive. He felt like he was pretty good at judging people's moods from their faces, he had to be in order to survive his Aunt and Uncle, but most people tend to try and hide their feelings while they were talking, whereas Fleur seemed to be an open book to him. He found the change refreshing, especially after Ron's recent two-facedness.

"One of the other things I asked you here for was about…" she trailed off, again beginning to run the end of her long silver hair through her fingers. He watched as she purposefully put her hands down on her knees, and took a deep breath. "I wished to ask you to come with me to the Ball."

Harry was certain he was dreaming. He had thought himself lucky to survive the dragon's fire, to have Ron back, and to have been asked to talk with Fleur. Maybe that was just it. Maybe he'd died in the first task, and the afterlife was some sort of place where your wishes were granted. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts to give a proper answer.

"You won't?" she asked, surprise mixing with a trace of hurt in her voice.

"What? No!" Harry stammered out, watching as her beautiful face fell.

"I mean yes," he explained quickly, hating that he continually had trouble voicing his thoughts properly. "Of course I'll go with you, if you really want to."

She smiled again, relief painting her features.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes moving from him down to the floor in apparent embarrassment. "I've never been rejected before. It was surprising to hear, even if it wasn't what you'd meant." She paused, and Harry watched as the fair skin of her face turned pink. "That sounded egotistical," she said quickly, "but I didn't mean it like that. It's my ability, men usually can't say no to me."

She grabbed a handful of her hair as her blush deepened.

"That didn't sound any better," her clear voice becoming more of a mumble.

"Why me?" Harry asked quickly, hoping to distract her from her worries. Surely he wasn't her first choice.

His question seemed to have the effect he'd hoped, and she seemed to calm a little before answering.

"It's as I said before, I haven't had a proper conversation with someone close to my age since I was young, and I don't want to have to play the part of 'serene date' to someone who is ensnared by my abilities all night."

Harry nodded, feeling oddly disappointed by her answer. He was surprised to find that he had hoped that she had wanted to take him because she was interested in him, rather than just because she was someone she could talk to for the night. He did his best to repress the feeling. It wasn't as though he didn't understand being lonely, and he _did_ enjoy talking to her, though he still didn't feel as though he was contributing much. Besides, he couldn't think of a single reason someone like her would be interested in a short, skinny, useless fourteen year old. He quelled his feelings of disappointment, and tried to think practically. Now he didn't have to go through the mortifying process of asking someone to the ball.

"I'm sorry for ambushing you will all this," Fleur said after a moment, waving her hand vaguely in the air. "I was so excited to have someone to talk to, and was so afraid that you wouldn't want to speak with me again." Her face turned rosey again as she finished. "I'm also not very good at moderating what I say...apparently," she added, a bit of irritation in her voice.

"It's...refreshing," Harry heard himself say. He had been thinking about it since he realized he could easily tell what she was feeling from her expressions, but was surprised to her himself say the words. Between Ron, who even though they'd reconciled, he still felt some distrust towards, and everyone else in the school flipping their opinions of him from one year to the next, it was nice to know someone beside Hermione who was honest with him.

"I expect you run into people wearing polite masks quite often, don't you?" Fleur asked.

Harry almost started with surprise as she put words to his thoughts yet again.

"Are you sure you can't read my mind, or feelings?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes," she said, a small frown appearing on her lips. "Why do you ask?"

"You keep saying what I'm thinking," he answered, feeling a little foolish.

"I think it's because we have a lot in common when it comes to how people view us," she said, after considering his reply for a moment. "It's easy for me to understand how you feel being put in the spotlight for something beyond your control."

"I promise I cannot tell what you are feeling. Not being able to do so is a little scary, almost like I've lost my hearing, but as you said," she paused, brushing wayward strands of hair behind her ear, and giving him another small smile, "it is also refreshing."

Harry was struck by a sudden intense feeling of fondness for Fleur. Despite feeling like he hadn't contributed much to their conversations. He almost felt more comfortable with her than he did with Hermione. He felt almost constantly on guard with his extremely intelligent friend, trying to make sure that he didn't slip up in some way to reveal the hidden depths of his life that he was afraid she was already suspecting. He felt a great sense of relief to have someone who hadn't the faintest inkling of his secrets, and the feeling was freeing. It was as free as he was sure he'd ever feel from the spectre of his relatives, and he resolved to keep it that way. Desperate to keep the newfound lightheartedness alive, he felt the desire to be uncharacteristically conversational. Maybe if he tried it out, it'd become easier to talk to her in the future.

"So what's Beauxbatons like?" Harry asked, his voice cracking slightly from nerves. He winced inwardly, and hoped Fleur didn't notice.

If she did, she didn't show it, and her face lit up at his question.

"It is beautiful," she said, her eyes unfocused in reminiscence. "It is not that Hogwarts is not beautiful in it's own way, but Beauxbatons has a warmth that Hogwarts does not." She smiled as she spoke, "and I'm not only speaking of the weather. It is difficult to describe the difference, as they're both large castles in the middle of beautiful fields, though Beauxbatons has more open fields where Hogwarts has it's forest. Perhaps you'll get the opportunity to visit it one day."

Harry listened as Fleur described the interior of the castle, including, to Harry's surprise, as fountain named after Nicolas Flamel and his wife. He considered mentioning his adventure with the stone in his first year, but figured they'd get to it eventually if they remained friends, and he was enjoying just listening to her speak.

The evening deepened into night as they spoke, with Harry asking primarily about her time at school, while attempting to avoid asking of her family, lest she reciprocate the questions. Harry was surprised to find out how much time had passed when Fleur finally brought their conversation to a close.

"We will have to continue some other time," Fleur said, glancing out the window where the moonlight shone bright onto the grounds.

Harry reluctantly agreed, though he could feel the tiredness settling in once she had pointed out how late it had become.

Fleur turned to him when they had returned to the deserted hallway outside the classroom, about to go their separate ways for the evening.

"I will talk to you later?" Fleur said, though her tone was more a tentative question than a statement.

"Yeah," Harry replied, silently wishing they had begun their conversation earlier so they wouldn't have to stop just then.

Fleur flashed him another nearly luminescent smile at his answer, and nodded. "At least once more before the ball?"

"Just let me know," Harry replied, offering her a small smile in return.

Fleur waved goodbye as she set off down the hall, back towards the entrance to the castle. Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map once she turned the corner, and headed back towards Gryffindor tower.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Where have you _been_?" Hermione asked from her seat by a dying fire, when he slipped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

"Ron went up to bed an hour ago," she continued, not pausing for an answer to her initial question. "I would have gone too, but ever since the dragon," she paused to smile apologetically up at him as he approached the large chairs by the fire. "I'm sorry Harry, I can't help but worry."

"It's okay Hermione," Harry replied, lowering himself into one of the chairs. He was glad that Hermione was alone. He had spent the trip back to Gryffindor tower trying to figure out how to explain his new friendship to Fleur without eliciting any jealous comments from Ron, or teasing from Hermione. He figured he could handle the small, light spirited jabs that Hermione liked to poke him with, rather than any comments from Ron. He was glad to be speaking to his friend again, but although he had been trying over the last few days, he had been unable to shake the distrust that had settled in him regarding Ron.

"I was out talking to Fleur," Harry said quickly, resigning himself to whatever Hermione would say.

"Oh?" she replied simply, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bushy fringe in surprise. "About the tournament? This late?"

"A little, yeah," Harry answered. "She gave me a hint about how to figure out the clue for the second task."

"You're competitors though," said Hermione, "Why would she want to help you?"

"She wants to help me get through the tournament," he explained, "she thinks it's unfair that I got entered, and am being forced to compete."

"Well she's right, obviously, but why did it take hours for her to give you a hint?"

"That wasn't all we talked about," Harry answered, "she wants to be friends."

"With you? Why?" Hermione asked, shocked.

Harry frowned, and was about to retort, when she spoke again.

"I'm sorry Harry, that was a dreadful thing to say," she said apologetically, mortification crossing her features. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's just surprising that an older student, from another country, and one who is an opposing champion no less, would simply approach you and ask to be friends. It seems a little suspicious to me."

Harry desperately wanted to disagree, but couldn't really find fault in her logic, despite the fact the he still felt that Fleur was being genuine during their time together.

"She said it's because she doesn't really have anyone else to talk to, since she's Veela," Harry explained, trying not to feel too guilty for divulging the personal information.

"So she _is_ Veela," Hermione all but whispered. "That does explain Ron's behaviour around her." She suddenly looked chagrined. "I suppose I owe him an apology." She seemed to remember something, and turned back to Harry. "But that means that you _are_ immune to the Veela allure."

"Seems so," replied Harry with a shrug.

"I wonder-" Hermione began, but was interrupted by a large yawn. "I had better get to bed," she said instead, rising from her seat. "Oh!" she said just before reaching the stairs to the girls dormitory. "What was the hint she gave you?"

"To put the egg underwater. She said it would get rid of that awful screeching sound."

"Try it tomorrow and let me know what happens," she said, before ascending the stairs out of sight.

Harry followed suit, tiredly making his way up the boy's stairs. He tried to sort the jumbled feelings he had about the night. His newfound warmth toward Fleur was warring with Hermione's logical points. Why _would_ someone as beautiful and talented as Fleur want him as a friend. No sooner did he have the thought, than he remembered her open expressions and smiles throughout their conversation. He had always been good about telling when people were putting on a show for him, and he didn't think Fleur was doing anything of the sort.

He climbed quietly into bed, taking care not to wake the others. He fell into a restless sleep, and dreamt of strangers wearing masks.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do this," Harry mumbled, wincing as he again trod on Fleur's toes.

"It's okay," Fleur replied gently, moving him back to the center of the empty classroom to start over, "that's why we're not wearing our shoes."

Harry had arrived to the same classroom they'd first met in, just a few days before the Yule Ball. He stopped short as he swung the door open, surprise halting his movements as he took in the room in front of him. Fleur had stacked all the desks at the back of the room, and was standing, barefoot, in the middle of the room, in a surprisingly light robe, not the heavy cloak he was used to seeing her wear.

"Are you ready?" she asked as Harry closed the door behind him.

"I suppose so," Harry replied, his eyes dropping down to her bare feet again. "Aren't your feet cold?" He asked, though as he did so, he noticed that he was beginning to sweat under his heavy winter robe.

"Hogwarts is not necessarily the coziest of winter locations," Fleur replied as Harry began to remove his heavy robe, leaving only his normal one underneath. "I don't mind the winter usually," she continued, gesturing towards the heavily frosted windows, "but it keeps getting colder and colder with no sign of stopping. I prefer to be warm, so I've cast a number of warming charms on the room, and the floor.

"If you don't mind taking off your shoes as well," Fleur continued, offering a slightly embarrassed smile. "Anybody that is new to dancing will certainly tread on their partner's feet, so this way, it won't hurt at all."

Harry had initially been slightly put-out that she fully expected him to step on her toes, but the feeling was quickly replaced by embarrassment, as she had been absolutely correct in her prediction.

"Once more," Fleur said patiently, placing his right hand on her waist, and grabbing his left with her right. Harry tried to push the feeling of Fleur's surprisingly warm skin beneath his hand out of his mind, and focus on the counting he'd been instructed to do. He found it easier to look down at their feet, and count aloud, rather than looking either up into her eyes, or straight ahead, awkwardly staring at her neck and shoulders.

"One, two, three…" he began again under his breath, stepping forward with his left foot as he'd been instructed. He discovered if he could push everything but the count out of his mind, he could perform all six steps with ease. The difficulty lay with forgetting the warmth beneath his hands, the blue eyes staring down at him, or the faint scent of cinnamon he could catch on the one and four counts, when they were closest.

"Well done," complimented Fleur, after they finished their tenth flawless set in a row. "You are a quick study."

"It's not so bad," Harry replied, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to return the warmth that had left them upon their parting. Now that he wasn't moving, he could tell that the warming charms had worn off, and his feet were beginning to freeze on the cold floor of the classroom. A small squeal from Fleur told him that she noticed the same, as she dashed for her wand, where it lay atop her winter robe on the nearest desk. Two warming charms later, Fleur and Harry were back in their shoes and warm robes.

"I enjoy dancing," Fleur said, a trace of wistfulness in her voice. "Though I don't have much occasion to do so."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Harry replied thoughtfully. "I bet it'll be better, and easier, with some music."

"It is," Fleur answered, as they stepped from the classroom. "You seem to be a natural Harry, maybe the ball won't be quite so bad as we are afraid it will be."

"Maybe not," he agreed, though privately he wished they had more time to prepare.

"I'll see you then," Fleur said with a smile. "Goodnight Harry."

Harry watched Fleur walk away, heading back to the Beauxbatons carriage, his mind a jumbled mess of feelings about the upcoming dance. He couldn't shake the stage-fright type anxiety that settled on him at the thought of the dance, but he also couldn't quell the small bit of excitement at being the one to be dancing with Fleur.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

The final days to the Yule Ball flashed by, dragging Harry along whether he was prepared or not. He sighed as he pulled the final layer of his dress robes over his head, briefly muffleing Rons muttered curses from next to him. Ron was slowly turning back and forth in front of a large mirror that they had been given. Ron's back was to Harry, but Harry could see the sour expression on his friend's reflection.

"Ruddy hell," Ron muttered again, as he tried in vain to force the large frills to lay flat.

Harry slowly slid out of the dorm room once finished, absentmindedly pulling at the dark green bow-tie that had tied itself around his neck once he'd put his shirt on. He slowly descended the steps down from the boys dorm, taking care not to let the unfamiliar robes slide underfoot. Rounding the corner from the stairs into the common room, he suddenly stopped short as he came face to face with the entirety of the underclass. As soon as he'd come into view, whispers broke out among the younger students.

He awkwardly resumed walking, taking a seat in a chair next to the fire, and tried to tune out the gossip nearby, while also trying to avoid thinking about his upcoming dance with Fleur. The short lesson she had given him in their second meeting a few days previous hadn't served to bolster his confidence much at all. She was mercifully patient with him as he trod on her feet, and gently coached him through the steps of a basic waltz.

The thought of dancing with her didn't bother him too greatly. He'd sort of enjoyed the end of their lesson, when he could let himself lose focus, and only pay attention to the steps and the beat. He felt his ears begin to burn when he remembered the feel of his hand on her waist. What did bother him tremendously, however, was the massive amount of people that would be watching his second dance ever.

Harry glanced up every time another dressed up student came down the stairs, hoping to see either Ron or Hermione. Fred and George offered him a simultaneous wink as they passed him a few minutes later before ducking out of the portrait hole to meet up with their dates, who had left before them.

Some of Harry's anxiety was lessened a few minutes later when Hermione came down the stairs to a renewed burst of whispering from the students lining the common room. Even from where he was sitting, he could see Hermione's blush travel across her face and down her neck as she tried to ignore the whispered comments of surprise.

Harry did his best not to stare as Hermione took a seat across from him. It was clear she had put significant time and effort into her appearance for the ball, and to great effect. He was most impressed by her hair, which had been tamed down from it's usual unruly nature to a sleek loose bun. She pulled her dress to the back of her legs as she sat down, trying for several moments to get comfortable, before settling gingerly on the edge of the seat.

"So…" Hermione said, her voice slightly higher than usual.

"So," Harry replied, taking an odd solace in seeing his friend as nervous as he felt.

"Ron and Neville aren't down yet?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly more controlled.

"I think Ron is still deciding whether or not he wants to be seen in those robes," Harry explained, "and I think Neville is more nervous than I am."

"I hope Neville doesn't think I look silly," Hermione fretted, absentmindedly smoothing the front of her dress.

"He was so excited that you said yes, that he probably wouldn't mind if you showed up in a potato sack," Harry said, laughing a little at the look of horror that bloomed on Hermione's face as she imagined such a scenario.

"I'm just glad someone invited me," Hermione said quietly, seemingly more to herself than to Harry. Before he could reply, she spoke again. "Not all of us can have a date fall into our laps like you can, Harry."

Harry was about to retort with the same line he gave Ron whenever his friend lamented Harry's luck, but stopped short when he saw the small, smug smile pulling at the edges of Hermione's lips. Harry settled for rolling his eyes instead of responding.

They waited in silence for a few more minutes before Ron and Neville finally made an appearance. Both seemed extremely apprehensive, though Neville's dress robes seemed perfectly normal, especially compared to Ron's.

"You both look nice," Hermione said diplomatically as they approached. Ron let out a grunt, while Neville simply blushed.

They stood awkwardly for a few moments, before Hermione spoke again.

"We had better get moving," she said, her voice once again uncharacteristically high.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The four of them walked in relative silence down toward the great hall, each apparently wrapped up in their own apprehensions. For Harry's part, he couldn't decide how he felt about the situation. He couldn't figure out whether he was afraid to be dancing in front of everyone, or excited to be dancing with Fleur again. His stomach lurched as they turned a corner, and a steady roar of conversation came into earshot as they got to the great hall.

With his nerves kicking into high gear, Harry had trouble appreciating the colorfully decorated entrance to the great hall. Massive green and red streamers that floated lazily through the air, gradually morphing from one christmas animal to another. Amused laughter rolled out from the crowd as small pieces of confetti that had fallen gradually rose back up into the air, only to rain down upon the students again.

Harry tried to calm himself as he heard Hermione gasp in surprise at the decorations.

"T-that's pretty cool," Neville said, as a pair of ribbons morphed into a large christmas tree. Ron grunted a reply, though his face had relaxed considerably while taking in the impressive display.

Harry looked out at the assembled crowd. Most everybody else seemed to be having fun chatting and showing off their dress-robes to each other. He found some solace in the fact that he saw others that were lingering on the fringes, seemingly as uncomfortable as he was feeling. He was saved having to wander the mass of people looking for Fleur by the distinctive voice of Professor McGonagall, who was calling his name.

"Mr. Potter!" she called, her voice easily heard above the din. "This way please. Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, Mr. Longbottom, please wait in the hall here until the doors are opened."

Harry waved goodbye to his friends as he was led Harry around the periphery of the crowd, and around a corner, much to Harry's relief. His sigh of relief caught in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

Cedric stood next to Cho Chang, both wearing mostly black robes with complementary golden accents. Cho's long, dark hair was braided loosely together behind her, small golden baubles woven in throughout. Further down the hall, Krum was leaning against the wall, his face the definition of indifference above a set of fine blood red dress robes. Next to him, wearing a dark red dress was an attractive dark haired girl from Durmstrang that Harry had not seen before. Neither champions dress and demeanor were a surprise to Harry though, and it was Fleur that had ground him to an unwitting halt.

Her dress was of a silver-gray satin that matched her hair in a way that seemed to make her luminescent. The dress was not immodest, though it clung lightly to her figure, and had a band of lace that wrapped up her left shoulder, and around the back. Harry shifted unconsciously as he began to feel strangely overdressed in his triple layered robes. It wasn't her dress that caught his attention, but the small, nervous smile she'd greeted him with as soon as he had rounded the corner with Professor McGonagall. He felt spellbound by the sight of her, and couldn't seem to breath, let alone speak.

Once Professor McGonagall had left, Fleur walked quickly over to Harry, who hadn't moved from where he'd frozen.

"Well, we don't really match," Fleur said in greeting, her eyes taking in Harry's robes, then flicking over to the other two groups.

"Er," Harry managed, his eyes following her lead, and looking again at the other champions and their dates.

She turned back to him, and began to look critically at Harry's robes. After a few minutes of close inspection, she produced her wand from behind her, and waved it slowly over herself. As she did so, the silver-gray color gradually transfigured into a deep green that matched the accents in Harry's outfit.

"Very impressive," Professor McGonagall said appreciatively as she returned from a now quiet corridor. "The control required for a gradual shift like that is not easily attained. Well done."

"Thank you," Fleur said genuinely, a small expression of appreciative surprise crossing her features. She looked down at her dress, and then back over to Harry's robes. "That's better, though the color doesn't match my hair anymore."

"It's...good," Harry managed to get out, before immediately wishing he'd kept his mouth shut, rather than say something so lame.

Fleur laughed gently, misreading him for the first time.

"Don't worry about being in front of everyone. It's just for one dance, and then we can relax for the rest of the ball. I have no desire to be on display in front of all those people any more than you do."

Harry nodded woodenly, suddenly remembering that he was about to dance in front of three different schools. He tried to force the feeling down. He did enjoy the idea of dancing with Fleur, and if he could face a dragon, he could dance a single dance.

"It's not like we're facing dragons again," Fleur whispered conspiratorially as Professor McGonagall motioned the group to follow her. She frowned a little in surprise when Harry's head whipped over to face her.

"Would you quit reading my mind?" Harry whispered back, a mixture of teasing and indignation in his voice.

Fleur shrugged and smiled. "It's just what I've been telling myself every time I get nervous. Helps put things in perspective. I've told you I can't read minds."

"I'm not so sure," Harry mumbled, his tone deliberately light and teasing. Through the course of their few conversations, he'd learned that Fleur could be sensitive with the topic of her abilities and heritage, a trait with which he could certainly identify.

"Champions," Professor McGonagall announced, her voice taking on an official tone as they reached the closed doors to the Great Hall, "it is time. Please line up, and follow me."

Harry looked over to Cedric, who offered him a nervous smile as he walked towards Professor McGonagall. Krum fell in step behind Cedric, leaving Harry and Fleur to the front of the line. Harry swallowed audibly, and he heard Fleur take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He stole a glance over at her to see her small, polite smile resting on her features. He recognized the facade, and for the first time, he wished that he were able to hide behind The-Boy-Who-Lived like she could hide behind that smile.

With a wave of her wand, Professor McGonagall opened the massive doors in front of them, revealing a multitude of expectant faces. The sight pushed Harry's heart into his throat, and he had difficulty remembering how to breath. The band inside the hall began to play a slow procession, and Professor McGonagall began to walk slowly forward, motioning for them to follow.

Harry missed the introduction of the champions, since he felt like all he could see was the expectant gazes of his fellow students, and all he could hear was the thump of his own heart. He didn't even know it was time to begin the dance until Fleur grabbed his hand, shocking him back into the moment.

"Ready?" she whispered, raising the hand she'd grasped, and placing her other on his shoulder.

Harry placed his hand on her waist, trying to ignore how warm she felt under his hand, and nodded.

The band began moments later, and Fleur began counting under her breath, much to Harry's relief. Her steady whisper helped keep him focused on his feet, and his partner, rather than on the eyes watching them, or his hand on her waist. He could smell the faint cinnamon scent that he had first noticed at the feast, the first time she had spoken to him. He tried to clear his mind, and focus on her words as he narrowly avoided trodding on her toes.

He chastised himself for letting his attention waver, and redoubled his efforts to keep time and stay focused. Before long, it seemed, to Harry's relief, as though the entire room were melting away. He felt his eyes unfocus from Fleur's face as they moved, more of his attention focusing on his movement and Fleur's soft voice. The only thing he felt like he could see were flashes of her long silvery hair, and the deep blue of her eyes looking into his. A soft, distant part of his mind noted that it was a little strange that he didn't feel the compulsion to look away from her gaze, and felt comfortable locking his green eyes with hers. He felt much of the tension he'd been feeling leave, as he moved across the dance floor with Fleur.

His strange, trance-like state was broken when he saw Fleur's eyes widen, and her whispered count falter. His eyes snapped back into focus, noting the surprise in her face. He mentally chastised himself for not paying attention, hoping that he hadn't stepped too hard on her foot while he hadn't been paying attention. He focused harder on his steps, picking up the count where she had left off.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur felt her body moving on it's own along with Harry's as he quietly took over counting the steps after she had trailed off. Her body followed along automatically as she tried to figure out what had just happened.

As soon as they had entered the great hall, she felt the other students around her in the background of her mind. She could feel her abilities searching them out, and in many cases, latching on to them. She felt their sense shift as their attention was drawn to her. She felt the gentle pushes of her ability as it shifted the happier attendees, and she felt the less subtle direction as it shifted the surlier participants. As she usually did, she had been ignoring the information her ability was presenting her while they danced, until something grabbed her attention so firmly that she momentarily forgot what she was doing.

For the first time since she'd seen him at the world cup many months before, she could _feel_ Harry. She could suddenly tell that he was focused, with a small degree of nervousness still present within his mind. In that moment, she had felt her ability push away his nervousness, and shift that focus away from his steps, and toward herself.

Or rather, she felt it try.

If she hadn't already been stunned by the fact that she could suddenly feel Harry's emotions, she was further shocked to find that his focus and attention refused to yield to her.

Before should ponder it for longer than a few seconds, Harry seemed to notice her surprise, and her sense of him vanished, like a flame being snuffed out. She danced along in a daze after that, automatically following Harry's lead as they gently spun around the room. She studied the enigma in front of her as they moved, wondering just what it was about him that made him resistant to her Veela heritage. And how he was able to both be invisible to her abilities, and visible, but unaffected.

She'd never encountered someone like Harry before, but perhaps her mother had. Fleur had only a handful of years experience with her abilities in full bloom, whereas her mother had far more experience as a full grown Veela.

Fleur was jerked out of her thoughts when Harry suddenly stopped. She noticed the music had stopped as well. She let out a sigh of relief that was shared by Harry. Their requirement for the ball was complete.

XxXxXxXxX

Harry echoed Fleur's small sigh of relief when the song finally ended. Another obligation to the tournament was fulfilled, and he could finally step out of the center of attention for the night. He looked back up into Fleur's eyes, and was offered a slightly wan smile in return. He could tell that her mind was elsewhere, and figured she too was thinking about being away from the stares of the other students.

Fleur motioned for him to follow her, and led them quickly to the edge of the dancefloor, weaving their way past students who were eagerly moving in to dance with their dates. Harry waved to Hermione as they passed by. She was pulling a slightly mortified Neville behind her, who's eyes glazed as they passed, and followed Fleur as she walked by. Hermione smiled back at Harry, not noticing Neville's reaction as Harry and Fleur exited the dance floor.

"You can stay with your friends if you'd like," Fleur said, noticing his exchange. "We only had to do the first dance together."

"Hermione is dancing," Harry replied, "and probably will be for a while. She was really excited about her first proper school dance." He looked around quickly, looking for a mop of red hair in the glassy gaze of the people around them. "I'm not even sure if Ron is still here," he said, turning back to Fleur. "It wasn't as bad as I'd expected," he admitted, "but I'd prefer not to be around so many people if I can help it. I'm perfectly happy leaving if you are."

He paused after speaking, and tried to backtrack, "That is, if you want me to come with you. If you want to be alone, I don't mind. Not that you'd need my..." He trailed off as Fleur smiled warmly at him.

"I've spent plenty of time alone Harry," she answered, giving him pleasant chills as her accent ran across his name. "Your company would be welcome."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

They passed through the great hall doors alongside Viktor Krum, who was no longer accompanied by his date. He said nothing as he broke away from Harry and Fleur, following the path back to the giant ship where the Durmstrang students resided.

They had to search the grounds for a time to find a secluded area that wasn't already occupied by amorous couples. Both Harry and Fleur's faces were red with both embarrassment and chill by the time they found a place to sit. The alcove they found had a small bench sitting inside, with enough space for two to sit comfortably, and the arched stone walls offered a welcome shelter from the crisp winter wind, and slight snow that had begun to fall.

They sat down, Fleur taking care to move her dress out of the way as she sat. As they exited the castle, Harry had offered Fleur his large black over robe. Though his face was cold, he was still sweating under all the layers of his dress robes, whereas Fleur's attractive, but relatively sheer dress did little to keep her warm. She pulled the large robe tightly around her as they sat as a chilly wind blew.

They sat in silence for a time, watching as a couple wandered by, searching for their own secluded space. Harry felt his face flush again at the memory of passing the occupied couples in their search for a place to sit, and felt a desperate need to break the silence.

"Well," he said, hoping his voice sounded normal, "that wasn't quite as bad as I had expected."

"No," Fleur replied pensively, "it wasn't."

Harry could tell she was preoccupied, and wasn't sure how to keep the conversation going, though he wished he did.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur chastised herself for letting Harry's attempt at conversation fall flat, but she just couldn't get what had happened out of her mind.

"Sorry if I stepped on your foot in there," Harry tried again.

She turned her head and smiled at him. She had noticed in their time together that he didn't often initiate conversations, and didn't want his efforts to go unreciprocated.

"You didn't," she reassured him, "not even once."

She saw the slight surprise in his eyes as she spoke. It hadn't been until close to the end of their dancing lesson that she had finally begun to be able to get an idea of how he was feeling. He seemed to keep his feelings close to his chest for the most part, a trait she assumed he picked up from his unwanted fame and scrutiny. She could certainly understand how it was easier to be who people expected you to be if you didn't show them much of yourself. She had discovered that the trick to figuring him out had been in his eyes. Whatever he was feeling tended to register there just before he got it under control. This was made more difficult by the fact that he didn't usually keep eye contact with her. She hadn't yet figured out that particular habit of his. She privately noted the irony of investing so much effort into figuring out how he was feeling, when it had been exactly that which had initially drawn then together.

She shook away the thoughts, feeling her long hair brush against the sides of her face. She reached up and slid the stray strands behind her ear.

"I was just surprised by something," she reassured him, "it wasn't anything you did."

She smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring way, but frowned inwardly. Why was she keeping what happened a secret from him? She'd been surprisingly honest with him in the short time they'd known each other. She didn't know why, but for some reason she felt like it'd drive a wedge between them, and that was the last thing she wanted. It was clear he had a hard time opening up to people, and had been surprisingly anxious when they'd been discussing her ability to 'read' emotions. She didn't want him worrying that she was able to feel him like she could the others around her.

"I had a good time too," she said, smiling with what she felt was a far more genuine smile. "I'd have never expected to be able to enjoy myself with a date to a ball like that. Thank you for coming with me Harry."

He gave her a small smile, one she could tell was genuine.

"I should be the one saying thanks," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I wasn't looking forward to asking someone to the ball."

"Surely it wouldn't be difficult for you to find someone to go with," Fleur replied, making an effort to engage in the conversation.

"People want to go with The-Boy-Who-Lived, not with me," he answered quietly.

"Ah," Fleur said simply. She could certainly understand why he wouldn't be interested in such a date.

Fleur eyed Harry from the corner of her eye, and found him looking seriously out into the snowy night, his chin resting on clasped hands, his elbows sitting on his knees.

"You seem to like dancing," she observed, watching him start a little at her voice.

"It's not as bad as I thought it'd be," he said, smiling a little. "It's sort of nice to get lost in the rhythm."

Fleur nodded, a partial idea beginning to take shape.

"Once more?" Fleur asked, rising from the stone bench.

Harry looked at her in surprise as she drew her wand.

' _Melodiam Stabilis_ '

As she finished the third wave of her wand, the whistle of the wind seemed to shift into a gentle song. She stood, and offered her hand to Harry, who accepted it in wide-eyed surprise.

They spun gently in the courtyard to the soft hum of the wind, the light snow swirling around them as they spun. Fleur ignored the way the cloak billowed out behind her, exposing her legs and torso to the cold winter air. Her senses were focused completely on Harry, who was silently mouthing the beat as he led her around the courtyard.

It seemed like only moments later when the song from the wind faded. Fleur stifled a small sigh of disappointment. She had been so preoccupied by trying to sense Harry again, that she felt as though she had completely missed their dance together. She looked down at Harry, who gave her a smile as he stepped back, releasing her hand and waist as he did so. The place where his hand had been felt intensely cold as the heat from his hand dissipated, and she pulled his cloak around her in response.

"Thank you Harry," she said, turning to walk back towards the front of the castle. She hoped he'd enjoyed their last dance, even though she'd been too mentally preoccupied to do so herself. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry follow suit, rubbing his hands together against the cold as he walked. Fleur pulled her wand from its place within the lace of her dress, and cast a quick warming charm on herself, blaming her distracted state for not having thought of it sooner. She slipped his cloak off her shoulders, and offered it back to him, smiling at the surprise on his face.

"Warming charms are a must-learn, trust me," she said, as he reached out and took the offered cloak.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry fastened the cloak around his shoulders, and pulled it closed around himself, noting with surprise that the inside was far warmer than he'd expected. Perhaps it was a residual effect of Fleur's warming charm. Whatever it was, he quite enjoyed it. Years of trying to sleep in a drafty cupboard or a large bedroom with one single sheet, had made him appreciate the warmth of heavy blankets and sweaters whenever he got the opportunity. Though, paradoxically, it had made him more resistant to cold than his friends, and more prone to overheating.

He tried to discreetly look over at Fleur as they walked back to the front of the castle, and could see her face clearly lit, her silvery hair made luminescent by the moonlight. The sight of her almost made his breath catch in his chest, but he suddenly noticed the preoccupied expression once again on her face. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her he'd had a better time than he'd expected. He'd actually quite enjoyed the evening with her, he just hoped she'd enjoyed herself, even a little. He could tell she was distracted with something, and had been since whatever had surprised her in the great hall. He stopped beside her when she stopped in front of the large entrance doors to the castle. He blinked away a few snowflakes that had begun to land on his lashes as he looked up at her.

"I think I'm going back to the carriages now Harry," Fleur said, an odd expression of regret and determination apparent in her features and tone. "Thank you for a wonderful evening. When we were told of the ball, I had fully expected to have to suffer through the evening. I'm glad I was wrong."

"Me too," Harry replied simply, still slightly dumbstruck by her appearance in the snowy moonlight. He could see the small snowflakes melting as they hit her hair and face, and watched as one landed on the red lipstick of her lips. He swallowed thickly, and forced his eyes up to her forehead, a trick he'd learned to simulate eye contact that didn't make him quite as anxious.

"Bonne soirée, Harry," she said, clearly lost in thought as she turned, and began walking towards the oversized Beauxbaton carriages.

Harry watched her go, rooted to the spot as he tried to figure out what had been bothering her. He didn't think it'd been anything he'd done, but he desperately hoped it didn't mean she was getting bored of spending time with him. A sharp wind snapped him quickly out of his thoughts, causing him to shiver, even through his warm cloak. He glanced one last time at Fleur's retreating form, before turning and beginning the walk back to Gryffindor tower.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 _Maman,_

 _Something I've never experienced before happened this evening at the Yule Ball, and I wanted to know if you had ever encountered anything like it._

 _During the champions dance with Harry, I suddenly was able to sense him. Not only that, but while I could sense him, he was still unaffected! The feeling went away as soon as he noticed my surprise, and didn't return._

 _Any ideas?_

 _Love,_

 _F_

Apolline Delacour set her daughter's letter atop her folded clothes, and sat gingerly on the large bed next to them. Every letter Fleur had sent for the past couple months had included at least one part about Harry Potter. Apolline wasn't surprised in the least by her daughter's excitement at finding a peer that was unaffected by her Veela traits. Fleur's letters had become significantly more regular after the conclusion of the first task, when she had seen poor Harry on death's doorstep. Apolline shook her head, trying to dispel the images her imagination conjured up at the memory. Between Fleur's detailed letter, and the shockingly descriptive Daily Prophet article of the event that Sebastian had shown her, Apolline could certainly understand why her daughter had been so distressed.

Her brow furrowed as she considered her daughter's letter. Apolline had certainly encountered a handful of people who had been immune to her ability throughout her life, but most had been Occlumens like her husband, Sebastian. Occlumens could certainly push away her ability, but it was unlikely that Harry was a master Occlumens at such a young age.

She drew her long hair through her fingers as she thought, trying to think of any other explanations. There was always the possibility that something had happened that fateful night to poor Harry, but also…

Apolline frowned as she read Fleur's letter once more. She had come across one other instance of an immunity, and she desperately hoped that Harry wasn't in the same position as Sebastian's old Beauxbatons roommate had been. Nolan had been mistreated for the majority of his life, suffering under the extremely abusive hand of his father. She had been surprised to find the unusually timid man immune to her when they first met, back when she and Sebastian had just begun dating. It wasn't until many years later, after Nolan had taken his own life, that Sebastian had explained why Nolan had been so extremely guarded in his dealings with other people.

She let a small sigh escape as she crossed the room, taking a seat at the small writing desk that sat beneath a large window. Pulling a quill and parchment, she mulled over what to say to her over-eager daughter.

 _Fleur,_

 _In your other letters you at least_ pretended _to care how Gabrielle and I were doing before you told us about Harry, now not even a pretense? I'm joking of course, I know full well how special it is to have met someone you can be genuine with._

 _As to your question, I have met a handful of people that have been unaffected by the Veela Charm, but I have not encountered a situation quite as you describe._

Apolline paused in her writing, leaning against the padded back of the chair. She didn't want to mislead her daughter, but she didn't want to caution her, and poke the fires of Fleur's curiosity with vague warnings. Making up her mind, she leaned forward to finish.

 _I am sorry that I'm unable to help you in this. I don't expect that I need to tell you to treasure this friendship, and don't let your desire to understand the 'why' of his immunity get in the way of enjoying your time together._

 _Love always,_

 _-A_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur crumpled her mother's letter in frustration, and tossed it on the bed. Between the thinly veiled 'leave it be', and the antiquated 'Veela Charm' phrase her mother insisted on using, Fleur almost wished she'd never written the letter in the first place.

Pacing her small cabin within the Beauxbatons carriage, she tried to calm her irritation, to only minor success. She knew her mother's letter only irritated her because she was right. The unique situation with Harry had basically consumed her since the ball. She had hoped that Harry hadn't taken offence to her sudden disappearance after the ball, and reclusiveness over the final week of the year.

She stopped pacing, and flopped roughly down on her bed, the same anxious worries flitting through her mind. She had invited him to the ball, then vanished into the night after just two dances. Then she hadn't said a word to him in the week since, instead opting to obsess over his immunity, rather than enjoy their new friendship. On top of that, she'd kept it a secret that she had been able to sense him. She could tell by his various clarifying questions, that he was supremely uncomfortable with someone being able to read him in such a way. If she told him the truth now, would he think she'd been lying to him the whole time, or would he just be upset that she didn't say anything the night of the Yule Ball?

She flopped down onto her back, sinking into the thick duvet. She looked over at her mother's crumpled letter laying dejectedly next to her. She reluctantly admitted that her mother was probably right, and knew her well. She sat up and opened the letter, smoothing out the wrinkles in a futile effort to stave off the anxious knot forming in her stomach. She wanted to visit with her friend some more, and that meant she'd have to face it if he was upset with her for vanishing suddenly, and hiding this new development. It wasn't a big deal, everybody had some secrets. Resolving not to waste any more of the winter break, she gathered up her cloak and her courage, and set out to search the massive school for Harry.

Fleur wandered the chilly halls of Hogwarts for what began to feel like ages, doing her best to ignore the incessant calls for her attention. She didn't know what she'd been thinking, wandering the massive castle in search of one person. She mentally cursed her single-mindedness, forcing herself to admit that she wasn't likely to find Harry just by wandering around. She'd have to write a letter, as she'd done before. She turned, and retraced her steps through the labyrinthine halls back to the entrance, lost in thought as she used the time to consider what she was going to say when she next saw him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited the warmth of the greenhouses into the chill winter air, pulling their cloaks tighter around them. Harry clutched his trophy in his hand, taking care not to let the enchanted container slip from his gloved hands. After days of research in the library with Ron and Hermione, they had come up empty on ideas for charms or transfigurations that Harry could use, or at least reasonably learn within the small window left until the second task. Their break had come in the unlikely form of Neville Longbottom, who they had run into one day while leaving the library. Neville had been sitting alone, next to a window, reading the gray, dog-eared book Professor Moody had lent him. On the table next to his large chair, was a pile of reference books worthy of Hermione herself. Having completely forgotten that Herbology could hold the key to Harry's situation, the three of them made it over to the shy boy, who almost visibly recoiled as they approached, pulling him from his reading.

Nevville quickly opened up when talking about his favorite subject, listing off the many magical flaura and fauna that had water-based properties. After nearly an hour of pouring through Nevill's books ,they finally found the answer, gillyweed. Neville directed them to Professor Sprout, who continually grew a few batches on rotation, so they would be ready as needed. According to the squat herbology professor, the weed was invaluable in potion making, but was temperamental with storage conditions, and shelf life. Left alone, it could wither and become inert in mere minutes if shocked by intense cold or heat, and would only last up to two weeks in an overly dry, warm environment. Professor Sprout hbd placed the gillyweed in a large jar, which, according to her, would extend the life of the plant at least until the second task, and likely longer, just in case.

As they were walking back to the Gryffindor common room, their feet automatically leading them up the shifting staircases, Harry felt his mind wander over to Fleur, as he'd found it doing more often of late. He couldn't get the night of the Yule bBall out of his mind, and her odd reactions throughout the evening. He wanted to see her again, maybe she could finally meet Ron and Hermione properly, but she had been nowhere to be seen. Harry assumed she could probably be found in the Beauxbatons carriages, but wasn't exactly sure how he'd go about finding her there, were her so inclined. He couldn't exactly knock on the large carriage door and ask to see her so he could ask why she'd left the ball so suddenly..

He was shaken from his thoughts as the portrait of the fat lady nearly clipped his nose as she swung open to permit them entrance to the pleasantly warm Gryffindor common room. They shed their heavy winter cloaks as they entered, the blazing fire roaring away in the hearth providing more than enough heat to keep them comfortable. Harry carried the gillyweed jar carefully up the stairs to the boys dormitories, and set it gently atop some clothes in his trunk.

After he closed the lid, he nearly collapsed onto his bed in relief. Between recovering from his burns, finding out about the Yule Ball, and getting to know Fleur, and her subsequent sudden disappearance, he hadn't had the opportunity to figure out much about his strategy for the second task. He hadn't expected such an easy solution as asking for the item to work, but as Hermione pointed out on their way to the greenhouses, the tournament wasn't just about skill, but resourcefulness.

He turned to leave the empty dorm room, but was brought up short by insistent, familiar tapping from the window. He turned to see Hedwig perched outside the window, tapping at it with her beak, while waving away a larger brown owl with one of her wings. Perplexed, Harry opened the window for the two birds, holding his arm up for Hedwig to land on .

The larger brown owl hopped through the window and waited patiently as Harry scratched the top of Hedwig's head in exchange for her letter. Once she was satisfied, she offered her leg to him, and allowed him to take the small letter that had been attached. With a soft hoot, she took flight, brushing past the other owl on the way out the window.

The brown owl had a similar small note attached to it's leg, which it offered Harry as he approached. Harry took it, curiosity eating at him as he also scratched the owl before sending it on it's way. He'd received letters outside of the usual post delivery time before, but never two at once, and someone had used Hedwig to send one. The list of people who Hedwig would allow to do such a thing was short, and Harry knew who he hoped had sent the letter with her.

He unfolded the letter, and smiled when he saw the tidy script he recognized from Fleur's first letter.

 _Harry,_

 _I was hoping we could meet again sometime soon. Perhaps tomorrow around noon, when the students are allowed to go to Hogsmeade? I expect that would be more comfortable than the freezing classroom where we met last time._

 _-Fleur_

Harry quickly walked back his trunk to where he had stashed his school supplies for the winter holidays, and pulled out some parchment. It wasn't until he reached to grab his ink with his other hand, that he remembered the other letter held inside. He set the parchment down, and impatiently unfolded the letter. He felt his pulse quicken as he read the extremely short message.

 _Moony's house. Tonight._

Harry dropped Sirius' letter in surprise, the parchment fluttering down to land in his still open trunk. Though the letter was unsigned, he recognized the handwriting, and only one person he knew would refer to the shrieking shack in such a way. He was torn between elation that he'd finally get to see Sirius again, and fear for his godfather's safety. He knew Sirius was back in England because of the tournament, and certainly didn't want him to end up back in Azkaban simply because Harry had been tangled up in yet another dangerous event against his will. Some dragon's fire burns weren't worth a lifetime of imprisonment with the spectral dementors.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he pushed the letter deep into his trunk, and retrieved his ink from inside. He didn't need to reply to Sirius, but he would need to let Fleur know that he would meet her in Hogsmeade the following day. He was surprised that she was willing to be around so many people when half of them were likely to gape at her, and try to get her attention. He remembered a place the twins had mentioned as an out-of-the-way meeting place that could afford some limited privacy, if you didn't mind a little grime.

 _Fleur,_

 _Meeting in Hogsmeade sounds great. There's a place called 'The Hog's Head' that's usually pretty empty. We can meet in front of Honeydukes, and I can show you where it is._

 _-Harry_

He grabbed his invisibility cloak as he finished, stuffing it in his robes along with the marauder's map. He wanted to be prepared for his meeting with Sirius. He took the steps down from the dormitories two at a time, begging off Ron and Hermione's confused questions at his delay up in the dorm, and sped off toward the owlery to give Hedwig his reply. He supposed he should feel anxious about meeting Fleur again after the odd ending to their evening at the Yule Ball, but the only thing he could focus on was Sirius. As he walked swiftly through the halls, he found himself excited, despite the danger, to finally see his godfather again.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well. It's been a while. Nearly a year. My apologies. I did take a creative writing class in that time, and learned about a few of my weaknesses. Hopefully you'll notice slightly stronger writing as time goes on.**

 **I'm in the middle of a pretty significant push to make progress here. I was considering waiting till I finished to post again, but I made a rough estimate of total chapters, and it's somewhere in the 30-40 range, so it'll still be a little while before I'm there. I'm currently a couple chapters ahead, so we won't be waiting 6-12 months for updates anymore. Woo.**

 **Two things. First is a quick shoutout to my betas, and the discord channel for keeping my interest up when it started to wane.**

 **Second, and most importantly, there have been some story changes to the established chapters. There are many small revisions to things I didn't like, but there are 2 major changes that affect the story.**

 **First: Harry's memory of seeing Voldemort has been changed. Chapter 3.**

 **Second: The end of chapter 8 has been substantially changed. I sat on that dang thing for 3 months trying to figure out where to go cause I didn't want to scrap something I'd already posted. In the end I think it was the right decision. I highly recommend you check it out before continuing, as it changes what some characters know, and will conflict with things in this chapter.**

 **Thanks for waiting, and thanks for not blowing up my messages with 'update plz'. Either y'all are patient or don't particularly care. Either way, the lack of pressure has actually helped. Please review if you enjoy it, or have some constructive criticism. I like to mainline reviews in my spare time.**

 **Enjoy! (Edit: fixed some scene breaks that were lost in formatting. Hopefully it won't be so jarring when the scene changes now.)**

"There you are," Sirius said by way of greeting as Harry shut the rickety shack door behind him. Harry immediately noticed his godfather's still too-thin frame. He was in far better shape than he'd been in the previous year, but his wild eyes still held the haunted look of Azkaban.

"Hello to you too," Harry replied testily, his nerves already frayed from the day of anxiety surrounding his godfather.

"Sorry," Sirius said quickly, flopping heavily down in a large armchair that was distinctly out of place in the ramshackle old house. "Being alone for so long, you sometimes forget the niceties of conversation, but that's no excuse. How are you? You don't look horribly injured by dragon's fire."

"I was," Harry admitted, unconsciously flexing his left hand. "They were able to heal me up pretty well. I don't even have to do the physical therapy any more."

Sirius nodded, scrutinizing Harry through squinted eyes. "Yes; it does seem that you're better. How are you holding up otherwise? Being forced into the tournament?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably where he stood. If he'd known he was going to be interrogated so soon after 'hello', he'd have been a little more prepared. "I'm fine, really. After waking up, I had to deal with the Yule Ball, meeting Fleur, and figuring out how to deal with the second task. I haven't really had much time to worry about things."

Sirius seemed to notice his disquiet, and transfigured another large chair for Harry. Harry sat gratefully as a mischievous smile grew on his godfathers face, shedding years from his visage.

"Meeting Fleur, huh," Sirius said, his attempted nonchalance too obvious to not be intentional. "I read about her in the weighing of the wands article. A Veela, if I remember correctly."

"Yes," Harry sighed, "she's Veela. She says I'm immune to her 'allure' or whatever it is. Says she can't sense me at all."

Sirius' smile faded a little as Harry spoke, replaced by mild surprise. "It's a rarity to be totally immune to it. Usually only a master Occlumens can keep it out completely."

"So I've heard," Harry said dryly, desperately wishing to change the subject. "So how are you? I'm not the one who's been in hiding for a year now."

"Just fine," Sirius said, waving away the question. "It's kind of nice to be back in England, despite the danger. Every minute I'm here feels like I'm laughing in the Ministry's face."

"But _why_ are you here, though?" asked Harry, no longer able to contain the question that he'd had bouncing through his mind since he first read the letter. "You can't go with me to do the tasks or anything."

"No-" Sirius replied slowly, his expression souring on the word, "no I can't. I may be able to help you with some ideas, but I can't do them with you. I'm actually here to help Dumbledore figure out why you're even in the tournament in the first place."

"Dumbledore had you come back?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Not exactly. He was pretty upset that I'd come back to help. Said he and Moody have it all under control, and that he isn't even sure there's malevolent intent behind your participation."

"Why would there be? They said that someone had to put my name when we were in the champion's room, but - couldn't it have just been a trick or something?" Harry asked, not really believing the words as he spoke them. He'd wondered much the same thing, and why he hadn't heard anything from Dumbledore about what they'd found.

"Call me paranoid, but let's say that the enchantments on the Goblet of Fire, an artifact that's been around for hundreds and hundreds of years, are failing. _And_ nobody has noticed. Let's say that it did spit out a name at random. The chances of those things happening, _and_ your name being the one to come out, are astronomically small. I think it's dangerously naive to say your entry into the tournament is simply an error. You, who have now been in life threatening danger every single year since you started at Hogwarts. I have half a mind to pack you up and move you to Beauxbatons once I'm cleared." Sirius made placating gestures at the panic that crossed Harry's features as he finished. "I won't, I won't. I promise. I'm just frustrated for you."

"Moody agrees with me," Sirius continued, "but then again, Moody actually _is_ paranoid."

"What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked suddenly, the weight of the tournament again settling heavy upon his shoulders. He wondered how he'd ever forgotten the potential death sentence looming over his head.

Sirius slumped back in his chair, resignedly. "You've just got to survive, and try your best. Dumbledore assured me he's poured over the contract with the Goblet, and he's sure you can't just sit on the sidelines while the other champions participate. Otherwise you'd be doing just that." He paused, a halfhearted smile coming to his face. "You could always win the damn thing."

Harry looked at him, struck momentarily speechless.

"I almost _died_ in the very first task," Harry said after a moment, his voice cracking as he spoke. He suddenly realized he hadn't addressed it before then, and felt a wave of panic begin to take over. "I didn't even want to go to the Ball! The thing that is supposed to be a big party! Now I have to go get something from down in the lake, and all I have is some plant that I'm supposed to choke down. Not to mention the third task. What is it even going to be? Fight another Basilisk, but this time surrounded by mirrors?" He could tell his voice was beginning to sound panicked, but he couldn't fight it back.

"Woah," Sirius said, leaning forward, his hands out to placate Harry. "Woah there. You've got plenty of people to help you out, even if the ones officiating the tournament aren't allowed to do so. I'm here now, and I'll help you as I can. Plus, if the last task is a Basilisk, you'll have an advantage."

His attempt to lighten Harry's mood didn't fall as flat as he'd expected, the absurdity of his statement seeming to surprise Harry out of his panicked state.

"I guess," Harry replied, trying to quell the adrenaline that had been pumping through his body. "Sorry."

"No need to be sorry, Harry," Sirius replied. "Your situation is really, really lousy, to put it as lightly as possible. But we'll get you through it. And since Dumbledore can't help you, because he's a judge, he's helping me track Peter, so I won't have to help you from the shadows anymore."

Harry could feel his features slide into placidity as rage boiled inside him at the mention of the man who had ruined his life two times over. His parents betrayal, and tearing his hope for freedom from the Dursleys away from him. He didn't want Sirius to see his anger, especially after having so embarrassingly lost his cool mere moments before. He knew he wasn't good at much, but he was good at keeping his anger in check. The slightest sign of rebellion at the Dursley's meant a world of pain and punishment. He'd had to get good, quickly.

"You alright?" Sirius asked, unknowingly parroting one of Harry's least favorite questions.

"I'm fine," Harry answered calmly, nodding his head for emphasis. "There's just so much going on, it's a lot to take in." He pushed his anger deeper, not wanting to be lying to his godfather. It _was_ a lot to take in, that just wasn't _all_ of the problem.

"You aren't kidding," Sirius said with a sigh, relaxing after Harry's answer.

"So where were you staying, before?" Harry asked, taking the initiative to turn the conversation away from himself. He _had_ been wondering after all.

"A beach on the Mediterrainian," Sirius said, wistful longing evident in his voice. "As a dog mind you, but it was still nice, even if you can't enjoy the sunsets. Except for this one time-" he began regaling Harry of his adventures as a dog, and his quest for copies of the Daily Prophet to keep current with what was happening.

Harry listened intently to the retelling of Sirius's life during the summer months, glad to finally be on a more relaxing topic. He laughed at all the appropriate times, and was properly shocked by Sirius' daring schemes for food and information. As the night wore on, he grew so engrossed in his godfathers dramatic stories, that he almost forgot about Peter and the tournament.

Almost.

Hours later, Harry was guided back to Gryffindor tower by the Marauder's map, taking care to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris as needed. He found his steps surprisingly light despite the intense conversation that he and Sirius had started their meetup with. He supposed finally admitting his fear regarding the tournament and it's deadly tasks had been some sort of catharsis for him. Or it could have just been good to see Sirius again. Regardless of the reason, or the result, he still wished he'd been able to keep himself under control. Letting his emotions run wild like that was dangerous, and he knew better. He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts just in time to skip a trick stair on the staircase he was ascending. He refocused on the map, locating Filch and his cat once again. Invisibility cloak or not, he'd be hard pressed to avoid them with a twisted or broken ankle.

Once safely in the dorm, being sure not to wake anyone, he quickly changed into his pajamas, and climbed into his large four poster bed. Despite the hectic evening, the extremely late hour helped carry Harry swiftly off to sleep, thoughts of Sirius and Pettigrew sliding through his mind as he fell asleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry waited patiently in front of Honeydukes, his back leaning against the cold stone of the old building. He knew he was early for their meeting, but couldn't stand doing nothing in the castle while he waited, so he'd made his way down to Hogsmead. He was regretting his decision, as he was now cold while standing around in the fresh snow, and still doing nothing. He patted his invisibility cloak in it's resting place inside his robes. He'd grabbed it on a whim, deciding to visit Sirius again after he finished talking with Fleur. He still hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Sirius about the past, and growing up with his parents. After their discussion last night, he could do with some happy memories.

He watched people pass by as he rubbed his hands together in his overly large gloves to try and warm them. He saw many people on dates, either holding hands, or their arms around one another. His eyes followed a seventh year couple, walking hand in hand through the chattering crowd, dodging past the younger students and couples that were hanging all over each other. He thought at first that they stood out because they weren't having a good time on their date, like all the others he'd seen, but he'd been surprised to notice it was a companionable silence they were enjoying. Their steps were light and in sync, and they stole the occasional glance at one another as they walked. Harry eventually tore his eyes from the couple, an odd mix of warmth and loneliness inside him.

He'd seen something he hadn't known he wanted. The idea of being as comfortable with someone as those two had appeared was extremely appealing, but he knew he was unlikely to find anything like that anytime soon.

' _Or ever,'_ a dark, pessimistic part of his brain chimed in, pushing the warmth from him, leaving him much colder and lonelier.

He was mercifully broken out of his sudden downward spiral by the occasional shout from down the street. He turned to look as a wave of whispers and craning necks washed by him. He quickly located the source of the commotion as the noonday sun glinted off Fleur's silvery hair, flowing behind her as she strode purposefully down the crowded road, a cacophony of shouts following in her wake.

Harry saw her small, empty smile firmly in place as she ignored calls for her attention, a few feminine voices standing out among the mostly male shouts. He raised a hand in greeting when her searching eyes moved his direction, and he saw her smile become one of relief when she spotted him. His wave faltered as he was struck by a thought. There was no way they were going to have a private conversation with all those people following her around, and they certainly weren't going to leave her be simply because she went inside The Hog's Head. He was a little perplexed by the amount of people vying for her attention. He'd seen the glassy eyed stares and occasional attempts to impress her, but never quite on this level.

Struck by a sudden idea, he covertly pointed to the alley next to him, being sure Fleur caught his motion. Once he saw her confused acknowledgement, he reached into his robes and grabbed his invisibility cloak.

"Here," he whispered as she brushed past him, thrusting the cloak discreetly into her hands.

Fleur didn't reply as she continued down the narrow alley, the breeze from her passing carrying the now familiar scent of cinnamon. He was jostled out of the way by the crowd as they began to try to follow her down the narrow alley. His last glimpse of her before he was roughly pushed to the ground by the mob was of her silver hair trailing behind her as she turned a corner, and stepped out of sight.

Abruptly, much to Harry's confused surprise, the mob completely stopped moving, and simply stood, looking bewilderedly around. Harry got to his feet among murmurs of 'pardon me' and 'bugger off' as the crowd began to disperse. After the majority of Fleur's former followers had left, Harry tried to be as nonchalant as possible as he slowly backed down the alley and out of sight, before turning to follow Fleur.

He'd only gotten a few steps around the same corner she'd turned, when he heard a muffled sob from near to the ground, only a few steps ahead of him. He looked down to the snow covered ground, and followed the footprints to where they stopped near a wall. He wasn't often on the other side of his invisibility cloak, and he had to admit, if he hadn't known what to look for, he'd never have known Fleur was there. The invisibility was perfect, and he couldn't even see a ripple to give her away, but he was able to see the indents in the snow where she was sitting with her feet pulled close.

"Fleur?" he asked the empty air.

A loud sniff answered him, before Fleur's watery voice floated up from her place on the ground.

"What _is_ this?" she asked, her voice fragile.

"It's my invisibility cloak."

"No simple invisibility cloak could do what yours just did."

"I don't know much about it," Harry answered, shrugging. "It was my fathers. I've never even seen another invisibility cloak, so I don't have anything to compare it to."

He heard the crunch of snow as Fleur shifted to stand up, a handprint appearing next to where she'd been sitting. She sniffled again, attempting to compose herself. Harry looked at the general direction of the noise, finding it odd to talk to someone he couldn't see.

"A family heirloom…" Fleur muttered dejectedly. Harry didn't reply. He had no doubt Fleur knew the story of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and how much his father's cloak would mean to him. "I don't suppose you'd let me borrow it sometimes," Fleur asked more clearly, though he could tell from her tone she didn't have high hopes.

"Maybe," Harry said, noncommittally. He didn't want to part with his cloak at all if he could help it, friend or no. "Depends what for."

"For exactly this," Fleur answered quickly. "Harry, I am _quite_ good at the disillusionment charm. I am sure I don't need to explain why I want to be unseen at times."

Harry simply nodded, Fleur's quick, excited speech leaving no room for comment.

"I am, unfortunately, still not successful with the charm every time. It is more difficult at times, but I have never gone from that many affected people to complete anonymity so suddenly." She paused, collecting herself. A few moments of silence went by before she spoke again, her voice only slightly calmer.

"Can you really not see me at all?" Fleur asked experimentally. Harry heard a rustling of fabric as she spoke. He assumed she was waving at him, as was most people's first instinct when testing their invisibility.

"Not even a ripple in the air," Harry answered truthfully, cognizant of the fact that he appeared to be standing in an alley, talking to no-one. He wanted to get to the Hog's Head, and out of the cold. It dawned on him suddenly that they wouldn't be able to go to the dingy inn after all, unless Fleur kept the cloak on the whole time. He doubted the unusually affected mob was limited to just that one time.

"How about... _this_?" Fleur asked suddenly, her voice playful. Harry laughed quietly at experiencing the unexpected side of Fleur. He watched her footsteps twirl around him as she moved, turning to match her. She stopped suddenly, noticing his movement following her.

"I can see your footsteps," Harry said, pointing to the ground. He'd been underneath the cloak often enough to know a handful of ways to catch somebody beneath it. Not that there were many. Winter was the cloak's weakest season, as both the snow on the ground, and the silhouette created by falling snow, were both dead giveaways for the wearer.

"I see," said Fleur. She paused a moment before speaking again, her voice tentative, and slightly pleading. "Could I keep this on for a little while longer? I don't think we can go to the inn today, not with...well, not with so many people."

"The classrooms are mostly deserted," Harry said, "we can probably find one with a fireplace."

" _Please_ ," Fleur said, and Harry could hear the shiver in her voice. He'd gotten used to the Scottish winters in his time at Hogwarts, and he'd forgotten how extreme they could be for those unused to the chill. He led her through the crowded streets, trying to take the least congested routes, to minimize the risk of someone bumping into Fleur while she was invisible. He wouldn't even have known she was still there, were it not for her quiet, pleased giggles every time they passed close to someone without them noticing her. He couldn't help but smile as they walked, happy to have seen this other side of Fleur. He chuckled at the thought. Maybe _seen_ wasn't the word he should use.

Harry led the invisible Fleur through the crowd, dodging and weaving as they went, slowly making progress towards the castle. Finally breaking away from the mass, they were able to walk unaccosted up the path that lead to the entrance to Hogwarts. Fleur had gone quiet, her earlier delight faded, the only sign she was still with him was the soft crunch of her footsteps off time with his own. He kicked the snow off his boots when they arrived at the castle, using the cobbles of the steps to knock the snow free. He led Fleur up the nearest flight of stairs, dodging some second years that went running by, mischievous laughter left in their wake. They passed old suits of armor, classrooms, and closets as they walked, Harry leading the Fleur deeper into the castle where the student population would be thinner, and they'd have their pick of rooms. On the third floor, near to the moving staircases, they finally came upon a room that met their needs, namely, a fireplace.

Harry opened the door, waiting for Fleur's quiet "I'm inside," before closing it behind him.

As the door shut behind him, the fireplace sprang to life, heating the chilly room swiftly with it's large flames. Harry stood, enjoying the warmth for a moment before speaking. "Er, Fleur…" he said to the seemingly empty room.

"What?" came her reply from directly to his left, causing him to jump in surprise. "Oh, yes," she sighed.

The air next to him shimmered as she removed the cloak, her sky blue winter robes becoming visible as she slowly took it off. She ran a hand through her long hair, detaching it from the robe as she held it out for Harry.

He laughed as the took the cloak back. "It's clingy, I know," he said, watching as Fleur attempted to cajole her hair back into it's normal, smooth state. Long strands of hair still clung to the bottom of the cloak.

"More trouble than it's worth sometimes," Fleur mumbled, pulling a long length of black ribbon from her robes, and wrapped it around the hair at the base of her neck, forming a long, loose ponytail. Harry found the change surprisingly startling, and informal, like he'd been given a look behind the scenes. He stuffed the cloak back in its place in his robes, suddenly aware that he was staring, the very thing she'd been so keen to avoid.

"That," she said, "is truly amazing. I have never seen another cloak like it. It was your fathers?"

"Yeah," Harry answered simply, glad to have it back..

Sensing she was straying into sensitive territory, she instead summoned two chairs from where they had been stacked along one wall of the room, and set them near to the fire. She gestured Harry over to one, taking a seat in her own.

"Why were all those people after you?" Harry asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. He'd certainly noticed plenty of people staring at her, and the occasional attempt to grab her attention, but nothing so significant as what he'd seen down in Hogsmeade.

"It was my abilities," she answered, irritation coloring her voice, "as it always is. Sometimes they are weaker, sometimes they are stronger."

Harry, also sensing treacherous territory, clamped down on the rest of the questions, giving Fleur time to relax.

"I've never," she began, trailing off as she spoke. A log in the fireplace popped, spewing a handful of sparks onto the stone mantle in front of them. Fleur looked at the embers, but Harry could tell her gaze was much further away. "I've never been so completely _invisible_ ," she said, the last word only a breathy whisper. "Everywhere I go, no matter what I do, there are eyes on me, always. I am either alone, or I am watched. Except with my family," she amended, a smile curving her lips, and disappearing just as quickly. "My sister will experience it soon," she said pensively a sad smile replacing the vanished one.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Harry said quietly, afraid he'd break the odd, divulgent mood Fleur had fallen into.

Fleur's genuine smile returned as she looked up at him, her blue eyes gentle in the firelight. "Gabrielle is twelve, and has been my only friend since she was old enough to talk." Her eyes widened, and she blushed as she spoke quickly, "Ah, until recently that is. Sorry.

"I just found out today that my family will be coming to see the second task," she continued. " I cannot wait for them to arrive."

"I bet they'll be glad to see you," said Harry, unsure of what else he _could_ say.

"Is your family coming?" she asked, unaware of Harry's suddenly tense posture beneath his robes.

"No," he said simply, "they're not."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "That's a shame."

"They don't like magic all that much," Harry said, trying to keep his mind from spiralling downwards at the thought of the Dursleys. He'd had to explain the barest information about his situation often enough, that he could usually say the lines without ruminating on his family too deeply. "I live with my aunt and uncle. They're muggles."

Fleur nodded, perhaps sensing the delicate topic, though Harry hoped not. He swiftly changed the subject.

"So why did you want to meet?"

The question seemed to catch Fleur off guard, her blue eyes darting from the glowing fire over to Harry as he spoke.

Fleur attempted to keep her sudden apprehension from showing. She'd asked Harry to meet her because she'd wanted to tell him the truth, and get her secret off her chest. After misjudging the intensity of her abilities that morning she was already feeling raw and vulnerable, but she _knew_ Harry would feel profoundly uncomfortable if she were able to feel his emotions, even if it was an extremely rare occurrence.

Her time in her room alone had given her plenty of time to ruminate on the possibilities of her conversation with Harry about this topic, and she'd come to one, solid conclusion. She should have told him right after the dance. But she'd been afraid. Curious too, but it had been fear she'd felt more than anything. Harry had made it clear he was uncomfortable with the idea of someone intruding on his thoughts. She remembered his ghostly pale face when he'd learned of legilimency. She'd been afraid that her heritage would once again push someone away from her, but with cruelty this time, as she'd known what it had been like to briefly have a friend, a confidant.

She'd struggled with the idea of 'friend' as well. They'd known each other a handful of months, only crossing paths once before at the World Cup. How could such a narrow window create any sort of bond, let alone the fear of rejection. She'd been unable to reconcile the answers she'd come up with, and had only been driven into a shallow depression from facing her weakness so abruptly. She played the stoic, cold veela for years, but as soon as she was offered the chance at friendship, her facade crumbled to dust, never to be retrieved.

Her mother had been right in her letter, no matter how much it rankled Fleur to admit. She needed to treasure the friendship, and to do that, she'd need to trust Harry. Trust that he'd understand. He was enough like her, attention and unwanted adoration thrust upon him by a destiny outside of his control. He'd understand.

"Fleur?"

Harry's tentative questions cut through her introversion as forcibly as if he'd shouted her name. She nearly leapt from her skin, her guilt clear in her perfect features.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Ever since their first meeting, she'd been open and easy to read. It was one of the things he'd enjoyed most about her. It made him feel as though she weren't hiding anything from him, though now he could tell he'd been mistaken. His pulse quickened as his worries began to run rampant in his mind. Was it all a joke? Had she gotten to know him to get close to the Boy-Who-Lived? Or to try to give herself a leg up in the tournament? Harry kept his face impassive as his mind raced. Speculation could help him prepare himself, but he wouldn't know for sure until she told him.

"I could feel you at the ball," she burst out, her words so quick and accented that Harry almost couldn't understand her usually clear speech. "With my abilities," she finished, clarifying. Her quick words slowing down to barely a mumble, her eyes dropping in shame. Her hands gripped her wrists in an attempt to stop the small tremors her nerves were causing. She felt as if she could explode with the nervous energy inside her..

Harry's eyes widened as he diegested the information. She'd assured him he was immune, and he'd believed her. He knew he wasn't affected like Ron was. He had no inclination to call out to her, or get her attention like the other boys around him did. He tried to think back to the dance, remembering the world fading away around him, her clear blue eyes and swirling silver hair being the only thing he was focused on. Maybe they'd been wrong. Maybe he wasn't wholly immune. One question burned hot in his mind, forcing sweat to his brow, and his heart hammering to burst free.

 _What else?_

What else did she know? What else wasn't she telling him?

"How?" He asked instead, his desperate need to cling to his secrets helping him maintain his facade. He tried to calm the adrenaline coursing through him. Feelings of vulnerability began burning through him. "I thought you said I was immune."

"You were. You are," she answered quietly. "I was only able to feel you for a moment, then my sense of you vanished"

"But," she added, her voice a little stronger, "even though my ability was able to sense you, it still could not latch on to you. Somehow, you are still immune to its pull, even when you are not invisible to it."

Harry felt his heartbeat begin to settle slightly at her words, though his mind was whirring with questions. One stood out among the others.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, to hide the hurt and fear bubbling beneath the surface.

Fleur recoiled as if he'd shouted at her. She'd been expecting the question.

"I think," she answered slowly, her eyes focused down on her hands, clasped atop her knees. "I think I was afraid. I was afraid of going back to my solitary life before we'd met.

"But," she sighed, looking up at him for the briefest of moments before lowering her gaze again, "I could tell you disliked the idea of legilimency or Veela abilities being able to read your thoughts and emotions, so I decided to tell you the truth. A friend would not keep such things from you."

Harry was silent as he tried to reconcile his thoughts, the crackling of the fire the only thing filling the void between them. She was right about one thing, he didn't like the idea of someone reading his mind. He'd worked too hard at maintaining his sense of self and the Harry he _should_ be, to allow someone to see into the dark recesses of his mind.

"I'm sorry," Fleur said into Harry's silence. He could tell she'd been telling the truth. She was afraid. He could see it in her downcast eyes, and the way she wrung her hands together absent mindedly. He desperately wanted to tell her it was okay, that it didn't matter. A few months ago, he could have said it, and it'd have been true. Now, however, the wound of Ron's betrayal burned anew, cautioning Harry against being hurt yet again by someone he considered a friend. Sure he'd only known Fleur a few months against the years he'd known Ron, but he felt like Fleur understood parts of him that Ron only resented.

He knew he should say something, to ease Fleur's obvious anxiety, but he wasn't sure he could. Every time he tried to say it was okay, he could only wonder what else she was hiding. He glanced over at her, irrationally hoping the sight of her would tell him what he needed to know. Her distress was obvious to him. He was good at reading people, but Fleur didn't seem to hide her feelings at all from him. An odd contrast to hiding such important information. Maybe he didn't read her as well as he'd thought. He shook his head, trying to break free of the cyclical thoughts.

"It's okay," he found himself suddenly saying, much to his own surprise.

His shock was mirrored by Fleur, who jumped out of her own thoughts as he broke his silence. Her eyes were wide as she searched his features for an answer. Apparently that was not what she'd been expecting to hear. He hadn't intended on saying it either, but he'd done so, pushed by his desire to relieve her of her discomfort. Maybe the words were disingenuous now, but he could pretend he'd spoken the truth. He could pretend until they were true.

Fleur searched Harry's eyes, the only part of him that would tell her what he was feeling. She hadn't expected him to so quickly get over her revelation, and was hoping to find her answer in the only place he expressed himself.

She was met instead by green walls, a fortress of calm. Her heart sank as she searched, but his neutral gaze didn't waver, and she sighed regretfully. Everything wasn't okay, but for some reason he was giving her a pass, or he was trying to anyway. The uncertainty that came with a new friendship was baring its fangs. Two months was enough time for them to become friends, but not so close that she could guess at what he was thinking. She was suddenly struck by how little she actually knew of him. She'd spent all their time together talking about herself, and her abilities, while not asking any questions of him, and he seemed content to volunteer very little about himself. She felt the sudden urge to really get to know him begin to burn alongside her continued desire to understand the mystery of his immunity. Her thoughts quickly slowed as the realization hit.

It might be too late for her to do either.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Gabrielle threw herself onto Fleur's messy bed, rolling over as she landed. She lay still for a moment, before sitting up, and examining Fleur's room.

"It's so small!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms wide to encompass the whole room.

Fleur smiled at her sister, whose excitement at finally seeing her older sister again hadn't abated in their walk from the castle down to the Beauxbatons carriages. The Headmaster had kindly lent his fireplace to Fleur's family to allow them to Floo directly from customs at the British Ministry to Hogwarts. He'd asked their father to stay behind, before sending them down to their rooms within the carriages. Gabrielle had skipped the whole way through the castle, drawing amused smiles from the women they passed. Fleur and her mother ignored the people bold enough to call out to them as they passed, instead focusing on Gabrielle, while Fleur answered her younger sister's questions about the castle as best she could.

Their mother had begged off seeing Fleur's room, citing exhaustion from dealing with British customs. Fleur didn't doubt her mother, but suspected Gabrielle's enthusiasm had been at explosive levels just before arriving at Hogwarts, and had at least a little to do with their mother's desire for solitude.

"It's not _that_ small," Fleur answered, sitting on the bed next to Gabrielle.

"It's smaller than the rooms at school," Gabrielle pointed out, "and _much_ smaller than your room there."

"That is true," Fleur said, feeling a surprising longing for her large, private rooms at Beauxbatons. "You're still in the dorms this year?"

"Yep!" Gabrielle replied brightly, throwing herself back onto the pile of covers behind her. "Deputy Headmistress Gardinier said I get my own rooms next year. Probably yours, since you'll be graduating."

"Is that so?" Fleur asked, affecting mild disinterest.

"I can't wait!" Gabrielle said, stretching as she did so. "No more of Mirabelle's dreadful snoring."

"The private rooms certainly have their perks," Fleur said noncommittally. Fleur knew their mother had recently given Gabrielle 'the talk' about being Veela, and what to expect as her abilities began to manifest. Gabrielle had confided in Fleur that she'd only partially paid attention to there mother during the uncomfortable conversation, much as Fleur herself had done. Despite what her sister said, however, she mentioned the talk at least once in every letter, and was now bringing it up while still skirting around the topic. Clearly it was weighing on her mind.

"They only have the four houses here," Fleur explained, deciding it'd be better to let her sister broach the delicate topic in her own time. "There are separate dorms for each year, split into boys and girls, instead of three people per room like at Beauxbatons."

"And which one is Harry in?" Gabrielle asked cheerfully. She'd mentioned wanting to meet Harry in her last letter, but Fleur had been hoping she'd forget. Harry had been almost avoiding her since their less than stellar meeting, and she didn't want to have to explain her mistake to her sister just yet. It'd be a good cautionary tale soon, but not right now. Not when the feeling of being suddenly stonewalled was still so _raw_.

Fleur swallowed in an effort to keep her voice as neutral as possible. She'd been counting the days until her family arrived so she could finally stop dwelling on Harry. She refused to be moping around instead of enjoying her time with them.

"Gryffindor," Fleur answered, proud of her steady tone.

"When will we see him?" Gabrielle asked, oblivious to her sister's turmoil.

"At the second task I would expect," replied Fleur, "he has been pretty busy lately."

That was what he'd said, after all, when brushing her off. She'd tried to talk to him again, hoping that she'd misread him when he'd said everything was okay. He'd dashed her hopes against the stones of the hall as he'd retreated with his two friends, saying he was "too busy", and "maybe later." The distrust in his eyes put the lie to 'later', as did the empty smile he gave her. A fledgling version of her own polite facade.

"That makes sense, I guess," Gabrielle pouted, some of her energy dissipating with the words. "Where'd father go?" she asked, abruptly shifting gears once again.

Gabrielle had been firmly attached to Fleur's waist at the time, lamenting her lonely Christmas, and had missed the Headmaster's request of their father. Fleur was surprised it'd taken so long for Gabrielle to notice.

"Headmaster Dumbledore asked him to stay behind," Fleur answered with a smile.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

As the door to Dumbledore's office clicked shut behind his family, Sebastain Delacour slumped in the conjured chair offered to him.

"I will not keep you from your family for long," began Dumbledore, sitting down at his large desk, "I was simply hoping for an update on my request."

Sebastain nodded, having expected as much. His assignment from the ICW had taken up most of his "free time" when he wasn't performing his standard duties as Ambassador. As such, he hadn't been able to update Dumbledore as often as he would have liked.

"We haven't had much success at either venture. Pettigrew continues to elude us, though we don't believe he's made contact with any of the Death Eaters we have under surveillance. Either he's deep underground, or they've slipped him by us. An unregistered rat animagus makes tracking quite a bit more difficult."

Dumbledore simply nodded agreement, allowing Sebastain to continue.

"We've had only slightly more success with the mystery Death Eaters from the World Cup. We know, unofficially, that Malfoy's group were the instigators and casters of the dark mark, but they weren't the ones who did the bulk of the damage, and none of his group did any of the killing."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised fractionally in surprise.

"From what we can tell, the unknown duo committed all the murders from that night. However, neither were recognizable from their methods of killing. We've been able to ascertain that one of them toyed with the corpses of the people he murdered, though we haven't been able to discover _who_ would do that. All of Voldemort's supporters that were so brutal, are either dead, or in Azkaban."

"That is indeed a surprise," Dumbledore said pensively. His eyes darted behind his half-moon spectacles as he considered their options.

"I would ask you to focus your efforts on locating and apprehending Mr. Pettigrew. There have been developments that require his capture in order to resolve them." Dumbledore said, rising from his seat as he finished. "I apologize for asking this of you when I know your transition has not been made as effortless as it should be, however, I would not ask were it not vitally important."

Sebastian scoffed at Dumbledore's words. "It's certainly been far from effortless," he said, grunting as he pushed himself out of the chair. He winced at the noise. He sounded like his father. Either he was getting old, or he'd been working far too much. "Minister Fudge and his team have been very efficient in blocking any progress I would make in my investigation. I'll give him one thing, he knows how to keep those loyal to him close, however overzealous they might be."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "he has surrounded himself with some rather intense individuals."

"That's putting it mildly," Sebastian grumbled, allowing himself to be led to the office door.

"Well," Dumbledore said cheerfully, opening the door, "I will not keep you from your family any longer. Thank you for your time today, and all your excellent efforts on our behalf."

"Ah, thank you sir," Sebastian said, straightening a little. He'd long since gotten over being star-struck by high ranking officials, or other persons of interest in his line of work, but to be paid a direct complement by _Albus Dumbledore_ , he couldn't help but preen a little.

Reinvigorated by the opportunity to finally spend some time with his family, he quickly followed the directions Dumbledore had given him to get to the entrance, and meet his family at the carriages.

"Papa!" Gabrielle exclaimed as Sebastian opened the door to Fleur's room. Fleur spun around, her back having been to the door, a wide smile on her face. She stood, crossing the short distance to embrace her father.

"Ah, Rose," Sebastain said as he hugged Fleur tightly, "it is so good to see you alive and well after hearing about the first task."

Fleur pulled out of the hug, rolling her eyes.

"Very original," she commented of her father's pet name for her. He almost never called her Fleur, unless he was being serious, or she was in trouble, instead using the name of whatever flower popped into his mind at the time. She sobered, taking a step back as the reality of the tournament reentered the room with his sentence. "I was fortunate that my abilities were extremely useful in the first task. I am not so lucky with the second."

"What is it?" Gabrielle asked from her place on the bed.

"I have to retrieve something important from within the lake."

"That stinks," Gabrielle commented helpfully. "What are you going to do?"

"A bubble-head charm."

"A safe choice," their father interrupted, cutting off Gabrielle's next question. "Do you know what the other champions will be using?"

"I am unsure," Fleur admitted. She had tried to glean a little information about the other champions in the recent weeks, but had found little. "I haven't been able to learn anything of the Durmstrang champion. He hasn't been seen outside the ship since the Yule Ball. I believe the Hogwarts champion will be using a spell of some sort, possibly the bubble-head charm as well, as rumors say he's been spending all his free time with the Charms Professor."

"And what about Mr. Potter?"

Fleur stifled a sigh. Her family was making it difficult to forget the incident.

"I'm not sure. He keeps to himself around others, and has been too busy to talk lately."

"Probably practicing hard. Shame about his situation. He's lucky to have you backing him up," her father said, unintentionally wounding her in his ignorance.

She nodded instead of responding, searching for a shift in topic.

"Oh," her father said to Fleur, snapping his fingers, "your mother wanted to see you when you get a moment. We're in the guest carriage, last door on the right. She'd prefer to leave the carriage as little as possible for the next day or two, so if you could find your way over there today, she'd appreciate it."

Fleur nodded, understanding what her father meant. Gabrielle, however, was completely oblivious.

"She should just come over. She didn't seem like she was feeling bad on the way here."

"Well maybe," their father said playfully, "if you would listen more than you talk, you would know what we are talking about."

Gabrielle groaned at the admonition. It was a phrase she heard often, though more often in jest than seriousness. Fleur found herself agreeing with her father though. It seemed her sister truly hadn't been listening to their mother during their talk about Veela. She groaned inwardly, sure she'd be asked to speak to her sister about it by their mother.

"Better go see to your mother," her father said, surprising Fleur. Apparently it was important if it couldn't wait until they'd spent a little more time together.

Gabrielle made an unhappy noise in her throat at the proclamation, obviously not wanting to be separated from her older sister so quickly.

"Gabrielle and I are going to explore the grounds a little while the sun is still out. Don't want it to get too cold out there," her father turned to Gabrielle, who shivered in anticipation of the dreadful Scottish winter.

"Take an extra cloak," Fleur advised, grabbing her own heavy cloak as well. She'd grown more accustomed to the chill during her months at Hogwarts, but she still preferred a little extra warmth, even for such a short trip.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Fleur!" her mother greeted her, arms wide in an expectant hug.

"Maman," Fleur said, stepping through the doorway and into the hug, "it's so nice to see you."

"And you," Apolline replied into Fleur's shoulder, giving her daughter a squeeze before releasing. "We were heartsick to learn that you had to face dragons in your first task, though I heard you handled them perfectly."

"A stroke of luck," Fleur said, "not so lucky for the next task."

"So I've heard," her mother said, a surprising hardness to her voice. "What's your plan?"

"Bubble-head charm," Fleur answered.

"Can I see it?"

Fleur smiled, casting the charm as she'd been practicing. The large bubble sprang into existence around her head, blocking out the ambient noise from around the carriages.

"Well done," her mother said, impressed. She poked experimentally at the nebulous surface of the bubble, smiling in satisfaction when the charm didn't dissipate at the contact. "Strong structure too."

Fleur cancelled the spell, smiling gratefully at the praise.

"How are you going to account for the cold? I don't need to tell you you'll be at a disadvantage."

' _You don't need to tell me, but you'll tell me anyway_ ,' Fleur thought sourly, her gratitude fading to annoyance.

"I know," Fleur answered, trying not to let her irritation color their time together. "I can cast the warming charm wordlessly as well. I'll use it as I need. I'm certainly no stranger to the charm."

Apolline smiled in understanding. The warming charm was one of the first spells she'd ever taught her perpetually-cold daughters. An unfortunate side effect to having a fire affinity.

"Well," her mother said, clapping her hands together, "you seem well prepared. Have you spoken much with your sister?"

Fleur couldn't suppress the groan that escaped her as her suspicion came true. Here it came.

"Oh come on," her mother chastised, "you know this is important. It's going to be an integral part of her life soon, and she's not taking it seriously. I bet she didn't even know why I'm as secluded as possible right now. She didn't even notice the difference from normal when we were briefly at the British Ministry!"

Fleur winced. She was right, Gabrielle hadn't noticed a thing. True, the ups and downs in 'allure' intensity weren't as significant for a mother of two as they were for Fleur, but they were still noticeable. Either Gabrielle was being deliberately obtuse, or she truly hadn't paid any attention at all. Fleur felt a deep pain in her heart for her sister. It was one thing to weather the challenges being Veela brought upon yourself, it was entirely another to watch someone she cared for step into such a lonely, superficial world.

"It's going to be so…" Fleur trailed off, as her mother jumped in.

"Awkward?" she finished for Fleur, quirking an eyebrow.

Fleur chuckled mirthlessly. "Yes, but no. It's going to be _hard_."

Apolline's stern demeanor softened, her eyes becoming gentle, and a little misty.

"It _is_ hard," she said quietly, reaching a hand up to cup Fleur's cheek.

Fleur closed her eyes at the contact, and tried to ignore the lump in her throat. She knew what her mother meant. It was hard to admit Gabrielle was growing up. It was hard to admit your daughters were growing into women, not to mention women who would face near solitude while being surrounded by people.

Fleur reached her own hand up, and placed it atop her mothers. Despite how easily her mother could get under her skin, it was nice to be with her again.

"I'll talk to her," Fleur agreed finally. Her personal feelings about her sister growing into her heritage fell far short of doing her best to make sure Gabrielle was prepared for what was coming.

"Thank you," her mother said, smiling. "She's heard enough about it from me, and completely tunes me out now. It'll mean more coming from you."

Fleur smiled wanly, wishing she could avoid the necessary conversation in front of her. Compared to this, getting something from the lake would be a piece of cake.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur found her opportunity to talk to Gabrielle the day before the second task. The twenty-third was a chilly, snowy day, but the energy surrounding the second task was boiling over, pushing Fleur and her sister out towards the lake to see the setup. Fleur caught a glimpse of Cedric Diggory across the lake, his gaze planted squarely on the still waters.

"Looks cold," Gabrielle commented quietly, gathering her cloak tightly around her.

"It does," Fleur replied, noticing her sister's pensive state. She braced herself, not sure whether she was dreading the conversation, or the second task more. "You know, Maman wanted me to talk to you," she said, her tone deliberately light and unconcerned.

"Ugh," Gabrielle replied with a grunt, glancing around at the sparsely populated grounds. "Do we have to?"

"I think we do," Fleur said, allowing some resignation into her voice. "You did say you tuned Maman out when she was talking, and she said much the same thing."

"I was listening," Gabrielle muttered, as she sat down on the snowy ground and drew her legs up to her chest. Fleur was surprised, knowing the wet ground couldn't be comfortable, but took a seat next to her sister in solidarity.

"You didn't even notice _why_ Maman had to sequester herself when you first arrived," Fleur pointed out.

"I know why," Gabrielle mumbled into her legs as she rested her forehead against her knees. "I was listening when Maman explained how it all works."

"Then why-?" Fleur tried to ask.

"Because it's scary!" Gabrielle nearly shouted, interrupting her sister. Her head came up and Fleur saw tears forming in her grey-blue eyes. "You've been talking about how it's so great to find just one person to talk to, and Maman just kept telling me about how hard it is going to be!" Her lower lip began to tremble as she quieted her voice. "A-and Maman and Papa told me about what happened to you at the Louvre."

Fleur felt her blood ignite as her sister finished speaking, rage tinting her vision a fiery red. _How could they_? Their job was to help guide Gabrielle, not frighten her. She had the advantage of an older sister who could help her through the upcoming ostracizing changes, she didn't need to be afraid as well.

Gabrielle shook Fleur from her angry thoughts by giggling and scooting away from her older sister. Fleur was snapped back into the moment, and noticed steam rising from the ground around her in a perfect circle, the snow completely melted away.

"I thought you said you were 'long past those embarrassing temperamental changes,'" Gabrielle joked, wiping her eyes and surprising Fleur again by quoting a letter she'd sent years prior.

"I'm not going to change," Fleur said stiffly, casting an over exaggerated sidelong glance at her sister, elicing another giggle.

"Don't be mad at Maman and Papa," Gabrielle said, more seriously. "I don't want the time we're together to be where you're all angry at each other."

Fleur calmed as her heart broke. Her sister often seemed older than her years should allow, but just then she seemed every bit the ten-year-old who didn't deserve the journey she was about to embark upon.

"I'm not mad-," Fleur said, patting the now dry ground next to her.

"Yes you are," Gabrielle answered, looking pointedly at the circle of missing snow.

"-anymore," Fleur clarified, smiling for emphasis. Gabrielle took her up on her offer, returning to her place on the ground.

"Is there anything you want to know?" Fleur asked awkwardly after a few moments, attempting to return to the original purpose of their conversation.

Gabrielle stayed quiet, gazing out at the ministry employees conjuring the spectator stands around the large lake. Fleur was about to repeat herself when Gabrielle finally spoke.

"What's it like?"

"Which part?" Fleur asked gently.

" _Feeling_ people?" she asked, a bit of wonder mingling with the curiosity.

"Honestly?" Fleur asked, considering her answer.

Gabrielle nodded, expectant.

"Well," Fleur answered slowly, remembering back to when her abilities had manifested permanently, not the fitful flashes she was used to as she came into her Veela heritage. "It was pretty annoying at first actually."

Gabrielle turned her head in surprise. Clearly she'd been expecting something else.

"It was information about the world I couldn't understand," Fleur continued, her eyes glazed with memory. "Like constant conversation behind you in a language you don't understand. Before, when the feeling would come and go, it was just a sudden, intense noise, like-"

"-like a train passing you by," Gabrielle finished for her, as she once again drew her legs to her chest, and rested her chin on her knees.

Fleur's head snapped over to look at Gabrielle, the realization catching her short of breath.

"Exactly like that," Fleur said gently. "It's happened for you?"

"A few days ago," Gabrielle answered, "it was the first time."

"It gets better," Fleur reassured her, though she knew the platitude wouldn't help much. "Having a sixth sense _is_ pretty cool."

Gabrielle brightened at Fleur's words, a little of her melancholy seeping away. Fleur held out an arm, inviting Gabrielle into a seated hug. Her little sister simply rocked sideways, falling towards Fleur in the same curled-up position she'd been sitting in. She dissolved into giggles when she landed hard against Fleur, eliciting a grunt from the older sister. Rather than chastise her sister for her fun, since she could already feel the bruise forming on her ribcage, she dropped her arm around her sister, embracing her. She hoped Gabrielle felt a little more at peace with what lie ahead of her.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Wow. Another update, 2 days later? I had originally planned to start a more regular update schedule, buuuuut, today has been hot garbage, and I'm feeling pretty emotionally compromised. Knowing people are reading something I wrote, and maybe even feeling feelings about 'my' characters makes me happy. My beta and I worked hard on this chapter, and I'm pretty pleased with it.**

 **I hope you enjoy it**

Harry lie in the dark, desperately wishing for the sleep he knew would elude him. As though the second task wouldn't be hard enough, he'd be doing it sleep deprived as well. His mind jumped around in his anxious state, from the jar of gillyweed in his trunk, to the odd riddle that he, Hermione, and Ron never fully cracked. The golden egg had warned of recovering something dear to him, but they were never able to figure out what. Hermione had privately suggested he go ask Fleur, since she had given him the hint about the egg in the first place. He'd had to tell her about the secret Fleur had kept from him, and why he'd been avoiding her whenever possible.

Rather than chastise him, as he'd expected, Hermione instead seemed to find the idea fascinating, and had taken up a side project of Veela research. Harry could admit to being curious about what Hermione was finding out, but couldn't bring himself to ask. Despite her deception, Fleur had been forthcoming with her abilities initially, and Harry felt oddly uncomfortable to learn about her from some textbook. He _did_ want to talk to her again, he simply needed to get over his fears. A hangup that hadn't been helped along by Ron, who simply could not believe Harry wouldn't jump at the chance to spend even a second with a Veela. His redheaded friend was completely oblivious to the fact that he was the reason for Harry's reluctance to reach out to Fleur.

How was he supposed to trust himself to choose friends, when two of the three he'd chosen had betrayed him in some way?

Harry rolled over, kicking at his covers in irritation. He'd been down that particular thought path almost non-stop since he'd all but fled from Fleur after she'd told him the truth. He'd been shocked when Fleur tried to speak with him again, even offering to spend time with Hermione and Ron as well, something he knew she was uncomfortable with. He'd almost said yes, but couldn't shake the fear that she could sense things he didn't want her to know. He'd begged off with an attempted smile, saying he had to practice for the tournament, which wasn't a total lie. He'd tried to pick up the warming charm, like she'd suggested at the ball, but he'd been unsuccessful.

He shifted and turned along with his thoughts, fitful sleep eventually claiming his consciousness. His worries melted into the landscape of sleep, where he dreamt, once again of Fleur, her long hair tied back with a golden bow.

XxXxXxXxX

The following day found the four champions standing on a small platform next to the long judges table. Krum stood impassively, almost relaxed, as he stared vacantly out at the water of the black lake. Cedric stood next to the Bulgarian, casting furtive glances over at Fleur, who either didn't notice, or was ignoring him. For her part, Fleur hadn't noticed much since she'd arrived at the platform, instead focusing on staying calm. The cold wind caught her hair, lifting it behind her, chilling her neck. She shivered, wishing for nothing more than the task to be over, and to be in a warm bath. She saw Harry finally approach the table, a small jar clutched in his hand. His visage was pale, and his gaze was locked solidly on the icy water.

"Wonderful," Ludo Bagman said jovially as Harry approached, "we can get started!"

He pointed his wand at his throat with a whispered " _Sonorus._ "

"I have the great pleasure to announce-" he began, pausing for a moment to allow the chatter of the crowd to die down, "-the beginning of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament!" The crowd cheered dutifully, their enthusiasm dulled by the biting wind.

"Each of our four champions was given a riddle in the form of the golden egg they were tasked with retrieving from a dragon's nest," Bagman explained, a murmur washing through the crowd at the memory. Fleur fought the desire to look over at Harry, instead using the time to cast a warming charm on herself and her swimsuit. She wanted as few distractions as possible when diving into the icy water.

"They were given a riddle explaining, in general terms, the form of the second task," Bagman continued, clearly relishing his role as announcer and storyteller. "They were told that they must retrieve something they will 'sorely miss', however, they were not told what that would be! Could it be their most prized possession, or maybe it's simply their favorite hat!" He paused, allowing time for the laughter he clearly expected. Near silence greeted him, and he took the hint, and swiftly continued. "The question is not _what_ they will be retrieving, but _whom_!"

 _That_ got the crowd's attention. A buzz of conversation was carried to the champion's platform by the cold winter breeze, though it could have been a tropical wind compared to the icy touch of fear forming deep within Fleur. Her pulse pounded in her ears as Bagman turned to face the champions.

"Mr. Krum, you will be rescuing one Ms. Emilia, your friend and classmate. Mr. Diggory, your target will be Ms. Chang, your girlfriend."

The blood drained from Cedrics face at the announcement, but he squared his shoulders, preparing to dive as soon as the word was given.

"Ms. Delacour, you will rescue your sister, Gabrielle."

Fleur felt her world fall out from under her, her body tensing, desperately wanting to dive in the water heedless of the rules.

"And Mr. Potter, you will be rescuing Ms. Granger, your friend."

Harry felt his body tense in a way he didn't know was possible. He felt like a spring wound to the point of breaking. He tried to calm himself, forcing his hand to relax. It wouldn't be prudent to start the rescue by breaking the jar and lacerating his hand. His friend was in danger; the only one who had stood by him throughout everything. He felt his fear fade to the background as he became hyper focused. He _would_ save her. Whether it was within his power or not, he'd save his friend.

"You have one hour! Begin!" Bagman roared, dropping his hand to signal the start of the second task.

XxXxXxXxX

Fleur had stripped off her cloak and was diving before Bagman finished the word "begin" her bubble-head charm already in place. She didn't feel the icy water pierce her warming charms like wet paper, her focus only on saving her sister. She faintly registered another splash shortly behind hers, but she disregarded the information. Whatever was taking the other two so long didn't matter, there was only Gabrielle.

XxXxXxXxX

Harry quickly unscrewed the lid of the jar, dumping the small green mass of gillyweed into his empty hand. He swallowed the rubbery ball in one swift motion, tossing the empty jar into the snow. He saw Cedric dive into the water, an odd, shimmering bubble surrounding his head, the same as Fleur's. Waiting for the plant to take effect, he stepped into the water, doing his best to ignore the dagger-like cold of the icy lake. Krum leapt into the water next to Harry, a flash of grey and red. Harry didn't have time to process the odd sight, as he suddenly felt lightheaded, like he was trying to breath through a particularly tiny straw. Without hesitation, he dove into the water, and vanished beneath the surface.

XxXxXxXxX

Fleur swam through the murky water, her warming charm having long since worn off. She didn't know how she was expected to locate the hostages, but that didn't matter. She would find her sister. She stoked her Veela fire deep inside her, the deep blue flame of her avian form keeping her warm in the water. She'd pay the price later, burning so much energy for such an extended period of time, especially in such cold water, but she'd endure. She had no choice.

She kicked her legs, passing into a field filled with long stalks of bright green weeds, her senses on full alert. She spun as something grabbed her ankle, jerking her to a halt in the icy water. A quick cutting spell released her from the weed, the discarded plant dropping into the murky depths. She looked around, the weeds making it impossible to reorient herself.

' _Homenum Revelio'_

Her voice was flat within the magical air of the bubble-head charm, but her spell worked. She could see the four unmoving bodies further than she'd expected, deep in the waters of the lake. She swiveled her head around to look behind her, checking on the other champions.

Two appeared to be entangled with one another, their vague shapes moving in circles around each other. The other appeared to have stopped swimming briefly, but soon began moving again in the direction of the hostages, far faster than Fleur had expected. She kicked hard, wishing she'd had the presence of mind to transfigure her shoes into flippers of some sort. Being first to the hostages was a far second on her list of concerns, but all the same, she'd prefer to be uninterrupted while rescuing her sister.

XxXxXxXxX

Harry waved a bubbly thank you to Myrtle, and sped away towards the direction of the Merpeople's village, being sure to avoid the tall weeds as she'd instructed.

He saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned, wand in hand. He saw Fleur emerge from the forest of weeds, a mob of small green monsters following her. Harry saw her cast spell after spell, her face contorted in a mix of anger and desperation. Her spells were making contact with the small creatures, and they were being blasted away from her, end over end, but soon after they'd return to the group that was attacking her.

Harry took a quick inventory of the area around him, making sure he'd be able to continue towards the village once finished, and kicked his webbed feet, propelling him swiftly towards Fleur. The green monsters rushed at Fleur, their long, pointed fingers reaching for her, only to get blasted away by her spells, time after time. But Harry could tell, it was not the creatures that were beginning to flag.

Fleur threw another spell as she saw Harry approach, her aim compromised by the numbing in her extremities. She could feel the flame inside her beginning to gutter as exhaustion krept into her vision. The one nearest reached out it's spindly fingers to grab at the bubble surrounding her head, it's teeth bared in a malicious grin. Fleur's eyes widened, the cold of the water making her movements sluggish as she tried to bring her wand up to blast the creature away. She _could not_ be bested by these creatures. She _would not_. Gabrielle was depending on her. She forced her body to react as she needed it, her muscles screaming in protest to the cold. She ignored them, sending the cloud of creatures around her spinning through the water with another wave of her wand.

Harry spun away from Fleur as her spell washed over him. He gave a hard kick with one of his webbed feet, righting himself. He quickly looked around, attempting to orient himself after having been thrown end over end through the already difficult to navigate waters of the lake. A short distance away, he spotted Fleur swimming away from the disoriented mob of creatures, determination set squarely upon her face. He propelled himself forward, swimming in the direction of the Merpeople's village.

The odd underwater village materialized slowly from the depths as Harry pushed on, following Fleur. He'd been surprised that she could carry on after the attack by the creatures, she'd seemed so exhausted when he'd first seen her, but she swam on, steady and persistent. Harry noticed a few of the merpeople floating outside their small homes, staring at the humans entering their domain. The two champions swam together, quickly making their way past the merpeople, and through the village. The hostages slowly appeared out of the gloom as they swam, their eerily lifeless bodies floating listlessly in the water, tied to four stone statues.

Harry immediately recognized Cho and Hermione, and who he assumed to be Fleur's sister. The young girl's long silver hair was a perfect match for Fleur, as were certain features of her sleeping face. Harry looked back to Hermione, and considered how to release her from the ropes. He glanced over to Fleur, who was raising her wand to point at the ropes binding her sister. He was shocked to see her features screwed into a mask of fury as she looked at her bound sibling.

His attention was snapped up as a jet of red light flew down from above them, narrowly missing Fleur, and scattering sand into the water around them as it impacted the lakebed. Harry's vision was obscured by the cloud, and he swam towards the towers, hoping to be left alone by whoever began the attack. Flashes of spells lit the murky area, though Harry could only guess as to where the combatants were. He wanted to help Fleur, though he wasn't sure how. He glanced up at Hermione's unconscious face as he swam close to the statues. She'd have known what to do.

He turned his back to Hermione, squinting his eyes in an attempt to glean any information from the flashes of spells in front of him. Suddenly struck by an idea, he raised his wand. He silently thanked Hermione for forcing him to the counter of _Accio_ , 'just in case'.

' _Depulso,'_ he said, the word escaping in bubbles and gurgles than actual words, but the effect was the same. A small column opened in the sandy shroud where he'd pointed his wand, allowing him to see through to the other side. Mere seconds later, the red spell flew through the opening, kicking up more sand, and once again obscured his vision.

He began to cast the spell as quick as he could manage, trying to get a glimpse of either of the other champions. His spells finally bore fruit, as he caught the shark-headed Krum unawares, allowing Fleur to finally land a hit from somewhere in the sandy waters, causing Krum to go suddenly limp in the water.

Moments later, the sand uniformly settled itself back on the lakebed, exposing Fleur who was already swimming back towards the hostages. Harry noticed a look of panic across her face as she drew closer. It only took Harry a moment to discern the reason why. As she swam, he could see large bubbles of air escaping her failing charm, the bubble already having shrunk to just across her nose and mouth. She swam up to the statue where her sister was tied, and took a deep breath, taking in the last of the air of the charm, the last small bubbles floating up and away from her.

A stream of bubbles came from her mouth as she cast a spell. The muted spell impacted the ropes on her sister with little effect. Harry's eyes widened as she did so. How was she supposed to return to the surface without any air, not to mention she wouldn't have another chance to cut her sister free with a spell? The lake was too deep to dive to the bottom on a single breath, let alone get anywhere without any air left. Harry swam over to help, as Fleur began to work desperately to untangle the intricate knots holding her sister, her wand held between her teeth.

He watched helplessly as he saw her porcelain skin began to redden from the strain, faint noises from her throat. He could see her fighting her lungs in their attempts to take a breath. He tried to work faster at the knot binding her sister's hands. Fleur's hand on his elbow stopped him, he looked up, and felt his heart nearly stop.

Her eyes were pleading and wide, the whites visible around the blue of her irises. She removed her hand from his elbow, and pointed frantically to her lips, tinted blue from the cold, which held her wand in her mouth. She pointed from her wand to his, and he knew exactly what she wanted. He felt a wave of fear grip him, pushing him towards her. He grabbed her outstretched hand, and wrapped his other arm around her middle. He could feel her strain her open hand towards her sister as Harry raised his wand towards the surface, his heart thundering in his ears.

' _Ascendio!'_

He felt a massive tug on his arm as he began to rise toward the surface, pulled forward by his wand. He winced as Fleur struggled, trying to get away so she could get back to her sister. He was disoriented by a sudden blow to the head as her elbow hit him in her struggles. He gripped her midsection tighter, gritting his teeth against the sudden sharp pain as her nails dug into the bare skin of his back.

He tried to focus on the light of the surface, finally visible as they rose from the depths. He ignored the burning in his arm from holding Fleur as she gave another struggle, before going suddenly, and horrifyingly still.

He felt a frozen pit form in his chest, pushing any other thoughts from him. He _had_ to rise faster.

' _Ascendio!'_ he shouted, barely registering the increase in shear force as his speed increased. It didn't matter. He had to go faster.

The force of his increased spell drove them up out of the water momentarily, resulting in shouts of surprise from the onlookers. He was unable to hold on to Fleur, as they began to descend, their momentum carrying her out of his grip.

"And it looks like Harry Potter is the next champion to surface," He heard Ludo Bagman announce, his voice amplified once again, "but with the Beauxbatons' champion?" Bagman's usually clear announcing voice trailed off in surprise as he stared at Harry and Fleur as they fell back to the water. Harry hit the water first, landing hard on his side. He struggled to look around through his disorientation, to try and find where Fleur had landed. He twisted in the water, looking for any sign of her, his gills beginning to burn for a return to the water. Shouts of surprise and concern from the crowd drew his gaze skyward, to where Fleur hung motionless in the air, a grim faced Dumbledore levitating her to shore. Not wasting any time, Harry thrust the wands back down into the water. He said a silent 'thank you' to Hermione for insisting he learn the spells.

' _Descendo!'_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Minerva!" Dumbledore called, maneuvering Fleur over the gathering crowd with a flick of his wand. He dropped his wand as the deputy headmistress cast her own levitation charm. "Take her to the medical tent please, I must return to the judges stand."

Professor McGonagall nodded, stepping quickly over to where the medical tent had been erected on the shore of the lake. Both Delacour parents fell in step with her as she approached, a grim set to their features.

"Our daughter?" the mother asked, her eyes locked on her still form.

"She will be fine, so long as we hurry."

"In here Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said, twitching open the fabric entrance to the medi-tent. She allowed the Delacours entry before letting the fabric fall, and turning to her new patients.

"Fleur has likely aspirated some water, and will need it removed," McGonagall explained, transferring the floating forms to their own beds.

Madam Pomfrey hovered over Fleur's still form, her wand held delicately just above Fleur's chest.

"How can I help?" Sebastian asked, his face panicked, but determined.

"By being quiet," the matron replied curtly, her wand moving up to Fleur's throat. With a murmur, a soft blue spell fell from her wand-tip, and settled gently on Fleur's neck.

Working quickly, Madam Pomfrey moved her wand back down, just above Fleur's left breast. With seemingly exaggerated slowness, the matron steadily drew her want up towards Fleur's head, shifter her wand as she moved, drawing it up between Fleur's collarbones, and up her neck.

"Open her mouth," she commanded softly.

Sebastian followed the instruction without hesitation, placing a hand on Fleur's jaw, and gently pulled it open.

In one smooth motion, Madam Pomofrey brought her wand up to Fleur's mouth, and drew it up and away from her face. A thin line of water followed the movement, leaving Fleur's body, and was deposited on the ground with a flick of Madam Pomfrey's wand. She moved quickly over to Fleur's right side, and began the process again. Once the water had been removed for a second time, Madam Pomfrey stepped back and raised her wand.

"Come on now," she muttered, smoothly drawing her wand back and forth in a sideways arc. Fleur's chest began to rise and fall with the motion. Her parents, conversely, seemed to be holding their breath, their eyes fixed on their daughter's motionless features. Every three arcs of her wand, the matron brought it straight down in quick sharp motions, before returning to the gentle arc. Her parents watched, fear holding them silent and rooted in place, as Madam Pomfrey continued her cycle over and over. Finally, an eternity later, Fleur suddenly spasmed on the table, drawing in a deep rasping breath before beginning to cough.

The Delacours rushed forward to embrace their daughter, only to be stalled by Madam Pomfrey's signal.

"When she has finished, there are two potions she needs to take. The sooner the better. We removed the water from her lungs to minimize damage to the alveoli and bronchi once she was resuscitated, but we need her to take a few potions to reverse the damage that has already been done to prevent any future respiratory disability."

She gathered the necessary bottles, and set them gently on the bed next to Fleur as her coughing subsided.

"Slow, steady breaths," Madam Pomfrey instructed gently, her hand resting on Fleur's back. "You're going to want to take deep breaths right now, but try to resist. It will hurt. When you're ready, pour the blue potion in your mouth and hold it there, do not swallow."

Slowly and deliberately Fleur reached out for the potion, and drank as instructed. She held the potion in her mouth, the viciously bitter taste causing her to wrinkle her brow in disgust.

"I know," Madam Pomfrey said in reply. "It's downright terrible, but over the next few minutes the potion will slowly turn to gas, push itself down your windpipe, and heal any damage you may have suffered. Breath normally, the gas will not affect your breathing in any way. Once you have none left in your mouth, please drink the other potion. It will repair damage done to your vocal cords when they spasmed shut. Do not speak until after you've had both potions please."

She turned to the waiting Delacours, finally allowing her relief to show.

"With a little rest and breathing exercises, she will be just fine," she said, followed by a joint sigh of relief from Fleur's parents. Mr. Delacour looked up at Fleur, who seemed to be searching around the tent in a growing panic, her cheeks still puffed up from holding the potion.

"Gabrielle is not back yet, but she is in no danger. The spell keeping her unconscious will not wear off until she is returned to the surface," her father said quickly, placing a hand on Fleur's shoulder, feeling it sag in relief. Her cheeks deflated as the last of the potion turned to gas.

"The next potion please," Madam Pomfrey cut in sternly. "Drink it all then lie down. Do your best not to speak for at least a half hour. Mr. and Mrs. Delacour, if you would…" she trailed off, gesturing away from the bed where Fleur sat, drinking the second potion.

"I don't believe I need to tell you how serious your daughter's condition was," she began quietly. Fleur's parents nodded solemnly, both glancing quickly over again to where Fleur sat. "I do not say this to alarm you, but merely so you are aware. Mr. Potter undoubtedly saved your daughter's life with his quick thinking."

Sebastian and Apolline both nodded solemnly, their countenance pale and exhausted.

"I will leave you with her. Please council her not to speak for as long as possible."

XxXxXxXxX

Fleur watched anxiously as Professor McGonagall levitated both Krum and her sister into the tent, both unconscious.

"Now that she is out of the water," Madam Pomfrey explained, "she will come around once the task is complete. Please excuse me, I see Minerva has returned Mr. Krum to his original form."

She stepped over to the Bulgarian's bedside, performing a cursory check on him with a wave of her wand.

"It was very reckless to change only part of your anatomy like that," she said, "you could have done some serious damage."

"Changed...part?" the young man mumbled, blinking groggily. His thick accent made his speech nearly impossible to understand, but Madam Pomfrey knew stunner confusion when she saw it.

"You were stunned at the bottom the the lake," she explained. "Professor McGonagall was the one who returned you to your proper form."

Krum hoisted himself up on his elbows, looking around, the confusion on his face only deepening.

"Vere am I?" he asked, anger beginning to color his words.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. Confusion from a strong stunner only lasted seconds after revival, perhaps he'd been hit with a confondus as well.

"You're in the medical tent at Hogw-"

"Viktor!"

Madam Pomfrey was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Karkaroff. The tall man bent to enter the tent, and hurried over to where Krum was still laying, partially upright in his bed.

"So good to see you well," Karkaroff said as he towered over Krum. "Don't over exert yourself!"

He bent down, placing a large hand on Krum's chest, easing him back down to a supine position. Madam Pomfrey watched as the Durmstrang headmaster leaned forward to whisper something privately to Krum. Krum visibly relaxed as Karkaroff spoke, closing his eyes to rest as the Headmaster straightened up, looking over at Madam Pomfrey.

"Mr. Potter has returned with the other three hostages," Karkaroff said sourly. "The task is over, and the hostages should revive momentarily." He swept out of the tent without waiting for a reply.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

After being hurried into the medical tent from the lake, Harry sat uncomfortably on the end of a bed while Madam Pomfrey fussed around him, pouring potion after potion down his throat. He'd been instructed to let his arms hang at his sides as the potions worked, repairing the torn muscles from hauling multiple people up from the depths. The bare skin of his shoulders rippled as the muscles were knitted back together. The feeling was strange and painful, but he ignored it completely.

Gabrielle sat, finally awakened, next to Fleur, who was in the bed next to Harry's. Fleur hadn't said anything to him, but he was almost certain she was holding back for some reason. Despite her clear exhaustion, she seemed to be brimming with anxious energy. The unease he'd felt about her special perception into his thoughts had all but vanished when he saw her as he'd entered the tent, sitting up in her bed, listening to Gabrielle speak in French. He'd almost collapsed from relief when he'd seen her awake. Awake and _breathing_. He'd had to shake the feeling of her still body from his mind as he'd stared at her, trying to remind himself that she was okay.

Once Madam Pomfrey gave the all clear, with an admonition for Harry to remain seated, Dumbledore approached from where he'd been patiently waiting by the entrance, along with Mr. and Mrs. Dealcour.

" _Thank you_ ," Fleur's father said thickly, her mother simply nodding agreement, her hands clasped together in front of her. "You saved our daughter. There is nothing we can do to repay you for your heroism."

Harry winced as he automatically tried to wave off the praise, his shoulders protesting the movement.

"You don't have to repay me," he said instead, "of course I wanted to help. There wasn't anything really heroic about it. Most people would have done the same, I'd think."

Mr. Delacour's eyes widened in surprise as he scrambled to come up with the words to accurately describe the magnitude of Harry's understatement. He was brought up short by a soft chuckle from Dumbledore.

"I believe you are correct, Harry," Dumbledore said into the stunned silence, "most people would want to help, though not many would be as effective as you were."

Harry's face flushed a deep crimson at the praise, and he ducked his head to stare down at the ground.

"And though your actions truly were heroic," he said, speaking over the beginnings of Harry's protest, "there are some ...unintended consequences...that we need to discuss."

Harry looked between Dumbledore and the Delacours in confusion, before glancing over at Fleur, who simply shrugged, signalling her own confusion.

"Simply put, I believe that your actions were sufficient to create a life-debt between yourself, and Ms. Delacour."

Harry stared, stunned. A part of him wondered if, someday, the magical world would finally stop throwing strange new life-altering concepts at him.

"We agree," Mrs. Delacour said, harry noting with surprise that her voice was deeper, and less accented than Fleur's, despite her smaller stature.

"And we are prepared to take the debt from Fleur's shoulders onto our own," Mr. Delacour continued, earning a sharp glare from his wife.

"I will be the one to take it," she corrected. "A man of your position cannot carry such a significant debt."

Before Harry could reply, a soft whisper from beside him grabbed his attention.

" _I_ will keep it," Fleur whispered, her usually bright, crystal clear voice reduced to a soft rasp. Her speech earned a 'tut' from Madam Pomfrey, while her words earned her looks of surprise from her parents.

"Fleur, you shouldn't…" her mother began.

"I don't want it," Harry cut in quickly, earning him his own set of surprised stares.

"Before you reject the life-debt so completely," Dumbledore interjected, "have you heard of such debts before?"

Harry shook his head.

"Life-debts vary in strength, based on a variety of factors. Little is known about the mechanics of life-debts, and as such, it is one of the areas of study for the Department of Mysteries. Lesser debts are largely unobtrusive, only requiring the debtor to avoid directly injuring the debt-holder. Large debts would compel the debtor to protect the debt-holder from attack, while the most significant debt ever recorded compelled the debtor to avoid going against the debt-holder's express wishes. The only way to know what type of debt you hold, is through trial and error. All life debts can be always be fully repaid if the debtor saves the life of the debt-holder."

"A life-debt is not an insignificant matter, and should be handled with care and caution, but it is not necessarily a bad thing, for people who have similar ideals," Dumbledore continued, gesturing to the Delacours. "Consider Mr. and Mrs. Delacour's position, and where they would be without your actions. How many parents and family members would pay absolutely anything to have someone back that could not be saved? You have kept them from such a dismal fate."

The Delacours nodded agreement, though they darted glances over at Fleur, who was studiously ignoring them, her attention focused on Dumbledore.

"I don't want it," Harry repeated, his resolve bolstered by Dumbledore's explanation. "How do I get rid of it?"

"You simply tell the debtor they are released from their life-debt," Dumbledore answered, his normally level voice mixing with a touch of pride.

Harry turned as much as he was able to look at Fleur, who was staring at him with huge, incredulous eyes. "I release you from your life-debt," he said, feeling a little foolish as he did so. He waited, expecting a feeling of some sort to wash over him, but nothing happened. He shifted back to face Dumbledore and the Delacours, and was brought up short by the looks on their faces. Mrs. Delacour was biting her lower lip, tears beginning to spill from her eyes, while Mr. Delacour's eyes were red and misty as he placed an arm around his wife.

"Magical or no," he said thickly, swallowing as he did so, "we will always be in your debt. At some point, I'd like to speak with you again Mr. Potter."

"Me too," Fleur said, though he could hear the fragile question in her words. He looked over at her, and had to blink away the sudden vision of her limp body floating through the air.

He shook his head to dispel the image as he opened his eyes, and immediately wished he were capable of cursing himself stupid. Fleur's fragile, hopeful expression had shattered into one of disappointment and hurt. She thought he'd rejected her. Again.

"Yes, of course," he said quickly, reaching a hand out to stall her as she began to turn away, dejectedly. His shoulder screamed at him as he did so, but he pushed the pain away from his face with practiced ease.

As he'd returned to the depths of the lake to rescue the other hostages, he realized that he'd finally understood the immense amount of regret Ron must have felt seeing him fly through the dragon's fire. The last thing Harry had done was lie to Fleur that he was busy, just because he was a little uncomfortable about her abilities. She'd said she couldn't read his mind, and she had eventually told him the truth. After being forced to watch her drown in front of him, and thinking he'd never get the chance to reach out to her again, he wasn't about to miss the opportunity.

Fleur smiled affectionately at him as he corrected himself, grabbing his raised hand and laying it gently back on his knee, her skin noticeably cooler than usual. She put a hand on Gabrielle's shoulder, and got up from the bed, steering her out of the tent. Gabrielle looked back at Harry as they left, before turning her gaze to Fleur. She said something in French that caused Fleur to look over at Harry. The beginning of Fleur's quiet reply caused Gabrielle to pout, but her expression shifted back to a happy one as Fleur finished.

Harry watched the two girls leave, hoping the muscle regeneration potion would finish it's job quickly.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Harry!" Hermione called as he entered the common room. She sat on one of the large chairs in front of a fireplace, her bushy hair dry and wild as ever. A far cry from the brown halo that had surrounded a death-like expression at the bottom of the lake. He tried to shake away the intrusive thoughts and sighed. He was exhausted, but the nightmares he was certain he'd experience kept him from turning in right away.

"Ron is down at the feast," she said as he sat down. "He wanted to wait for you too, but I convinced him to go. I thought you might be tired, and he was getting a little cranky from hunger."

Harry simply nodded understanding as he sank into the chair. The nervous energy from the days events had yet to dissipate. He could feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep for quite some time.

"They said you single handedly got everyone back to the surface," Hermione said into the silence. Harry again nodded his reply.

"But you didn't need to save all of us," she chided gently, leaning forward in her chair. "Didn't they tell you we'd be fine?"

"The song from the egg said after an hour, we'd lose what they took," Harry said quietly, remembering the grim set to the champions faces as the hostages were announced. Each one of them had thought it was life or death. It _had_ been. He swallowed thickly. "Nobody told us you'd all be fine."

"Surely you don't think Dumbledore would let anyone die for the tournament. He said it'd been made safer," Hermione continued doggedly. "They made sure to save you after the dragon…" she trailed off, her argument losing some of its energy.

Harry's eyes shot up in surprise. Somehow she didn't know what had happened. The intensity of his gaze pushed Hermione back in her seat.

"He would." Harry answered, his voice deliberately quiet, subdued. He felt as though any emotion would send him careening over an invisible cliff; an edge he'd been walking for weeks. Hermione sat up straighter, collecting herself. He saw the gentle, but firm disagreement settle in her features. "He did."

Hermione's speech died in her throat at Harry's near inaudible words. She'd seen everyone leaving the medical tent herself, no-one had died during the task.

"Harry," Hermione said, as gingerly as she could, trying to keep her worry from showing. Harry had been through far too much in his short life, but he'd always had a solid grip on reality. "Everyone was okay afterwards. I saw them leaving."

To her surprise Harry nodded, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees. His shaggy black hair shadowed his face, the flickering firelight giving her glimpses of his haunted green eyes through the fringe. It frightened her. He'd always come out okay. Somehow. He'd escaped from Quirrell, the Chamber, and the Dementors. He'd smile tiredly at her, and maybe sleep for a few days, but he was always okay.

"She d-" he began, his voice faltering immediately. She saw him set his jaw, while his eyes bored into her. "She-as I was holding her," he tried again, and she could see the muscles of his jaw clench as he ground his teeth. Hermione wanted to say something, to help, to fix it, but she was suddenly very aware that she had no idea how to help him. Instead, she sat, transfixed by Harry's struggles.

"She drowned," he ground out, a furious tear tracking down his cheek. He angrily wiped it away with a loud sniff. He sat quietly, frowning as he visibly fought to master his emotions. Hermione sat, paralyzed. She'd been with Harry through all of his grueling ordeals. Had seen him at his most defeated and afraid, but she'd not seen him shed a single tear in all their time together. She wanted to help him somehow, and she wanted to hug him, but she knew he hated being hugged. She wanted to hold him close and pat his hair like her mom did for her whenever she was crying, but her mom had never had to comfort someone who had watched someone _die_. She sat, rooted to her seat as Harry tried to continue.

"We got there at the same time," he began, his voice thick, but steady. "She got into a duel with Krum. She won, but he busted her breathing charm. She tried to cut the ropes on her sister but couldn't."

Harry paused, absently wringing his hands as he searched for the words. Hermione watched, her attention captured completely by him. He swallowed, and began to speak, the strength gone from his voice.

"We tried to untie her sister, since she didn't have any air left after casting the spell. The knot was too complicated, and we couldn't get it undone." His words began to come faster, she could tell he was fighting to keep from choking up.

"She asked me to help her. She looked at my wand and asked me to cast something to help her." He took a shuddering breath. "And I _couldn't_. I didn't know any spells to give her air. To save her life." He took in a shaky breath before continuing. "So I grabbed her, and tried to bring her to the surface." He trailed off, his voice quiet and raw. "I wasn't fast enough."

Hermione watched silently as tears began to stream from his eyes, but he was too lost in memory to notice.

"She fought to get back to her sister. The whole time we were rising she was fighting, until...until...in my arms-" his whole body lurched as he stifled a sob. "She-"

Herrmione slid quickly from her chair across from him over to the large couch next to him, so she could be closer. She resisted the urge to lay her hand on him in such a fragile state.

"It's okay," she whispered, leaning forward so he could hear her. He bowed his head, his back spasming as he fought against the sobs with all his might. "It _is_ ," she insisted when he didn't reply. "You saved her. I saw her leaving the medical tent afterwards. She's okay."

Slowly, his breathing steadied, and began to return to normal as he took in her words.

"I need to go to bed," he finally whispered, his head still bowed.

"Harry," she said, pleadingly. "We should-"

"Goodnight Hermione," he cut in monotonously as he rose. He ignored her protests as he slowly ascended the stairs, resigning himself to the prison of nightmares that awaited him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur sat on her bed, her head against her mother's shoulder. Her father sat on her other side, rubbing small, comforting circles against her back. Gabrielle had been sent with Madam Maxime to the after task feast, much to the younger girls excitement. After Gabrielle's departure, they walked slowly, and silently, to Fleur's quarters within the carriages.

As the door clicked shut, her parents simultaneously wrapped their arms around her as her mother let out an agonized wail. They collapsed just inside the doorway, her mother sobbing into Fleur's shoulder, her father's large arms wrapped tightly around the both of them.

"I'm sorry," Fleur whispered as she tightened her grip on her family. She ignored the sting in her throat, the pain in her heart overpowering any other feeling. Everything had turned out okay, but she had failed. She hadn't even asked after her score for the task. She'd been too focused on Gabrielle to think of anything else. She'd failed Gabrielle. They were all fortunate that the Mer-song from the egg had not been the literal threat the champions had made it out to be, and that Gabrielle would have been okay regardless. But she hadn't known that. She'd fought with everything she'd had, poured every last bit of energy into saving her sister, and she had failed. As the icy water had burned through her chest, she had only hoped Harry would save her sister in her stead.

And he had.

He'd saved them both. Tearing his body apart to rescue them. Not only had he saved her life, but he'd returned it to her when he'd given up the life debt without hesitation. He'd even seemed a little annoyed as her parents and his Headmaster had tried to explain the rules.

A sharp intake of breath from her father drew her from her thoughts, and back to the floor where they sat. She could ponder the growing enigma of Harry Potter later. Her parents grip around her grew even tighter as her father finally broke, and began to sob against her, prompting her mother to follow suit. Slowly, as she clung tightly to her parents, reality began to settle itself upon her shoulders. The tournament wasn't just dangerous, it was deadly. She felt as though a veil had fallen from her mind, exposing the Triwizard Tournament for the nightmare it was. How was she supposed to survive such a thing? She'd already failed to do so once.

Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed, clutching her parents robes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Mr. Potter."

His head of house's distinctive voice pushed any remaining fatigue from his body as he stepped off the stairs and into the common room. Professor McGonagall sat on one of the chairs across from Hermione, who appeared to have gotten less sleep than he had.

"What is it Professor?" he asked, oddly uncomfortable at seeing the usually stoic Professor relaxing in the common room. Had she been waiting for him?

"If you'll please follow me, I'll explain on the way."

Harry felt his pulse quicken, as he followed his head of house out of the portrait hole, leaving a silent Hermione behind.

"We're headed to the hospital wing to do a follow-up on you. Poppy said that you were moving your arms during the muscle regrowth, and she needed to be sure everything is working properly."

Harry nodded, relaxing as he did so. The previous day _had_ been a taxing one.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** **Would ya look at that. Still goin. After the intensity of the last chapter, I hope you enjoy a slightly more calm chapter. We'll be speeding up quite a bit starting in chapter 12, so enjoy the slight reprieve. I'd say consider this your 'last rest stop for 600 miles' type thing. Also, thanks for reviewing. Even the most basic 'I liked this' was a huge help during a bit of a tough time. I know this type of story isn't everyone's cup of tea, so as long as a few are enjoying it, I'm pretty happy.**

 **Enjoy!**

There was a familiar creak as the doors to the hospital wing swung open to admit Harry alongside Professor McGonagall. The early morning light shone through the windows, melting the nights frost from the glass.

"Ah, thank you Minerva," Madam Pomfrey said, gesturing for Harry to take a seat at the nearest bed. "Thank you for coming so early Mr. Potter," she continued as Professor Mcgonagall bade them goodbye. "The sooner we check on your muscles the better."

She began to run her wants slowly up his left arm, spending extra time on his wrist.

"Any pain or stiffness this morning?" she asked as she worked, gingerly turning his hand over in her own.

"Not any more than usual," he answered truthfully.

"And how are you doing otherwise?" the matron asked, her wand making its way up the length of his arm.

"Otherwise?" Harry asked.

"Well," she began, fixing him with her stern gaze, "yesterday you dove into a nearly frozen lake, dragged someone up to the surface, then went back and did it again!"

Harry winced, chastising himself for not expecting the reprimand, as she'd been too busy the day before to do it properly. He tried to look properly repentant beneath her stare, though he expected she could usually see through his attempts.

"Not to mention," she continued, her stern gaze falling into a much kinder look, "you had to watch someone die in front of you."

Harry felt his expression fall in his surprise at the change in topic. He'd had to watch it happen all night in his sleep.

"She's fine though," he attempted with a shrug, "she didn't...you know."

"But you didn't know that," she replied, her wand now inspecting his chest. "Just because she was resuscitated, doesn't mean that you didn't have the experience of seeing it happen."

Harry nodded, unsure how to reply. He knew where she was headed with the conversation, but couldn't find it in himself to continue to assert that he was untroubled by what had happened. He had been troubled by what had happened, and he had broken down in front of Hermione before reliving the whole experience in his sleep. He didn't know how he'd be able to face her.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his thoughts from running away with him.

'Small truths' he reminded himself. He didn't really want to talk about it, but knew Madam Pomfrey well enough to know she wasn't about to just let it go.

"I'm just glad she's okay," he finally answered, his voice barely a whisper.

Madam Pomfrey's stern visage softened into a gentle smile. She placed her wand back in her robes, and regarded him for a moment before speaking.

"If I may," she began, her no-nonsense tone gone, replaced by a much more conversational one. "I've been at Hogwarts for a long time."

Harry simply nodded agreement, the unusual shift putting him off balance.

"I've helped students through any number of physical and emotional distress that comes from living in a place so saturated with young people learning to control their volatile magic. All my time here has given me insight into not only magical healing, but practical healing as well."

She smiled reassuringly at him as she spoke.

"I would like to think I know you well enough, Mr. Potter, to know that you are not going to like what I am about to say."

Harry suddenly tensed, his mind racing to try and figure out where the conversation was heading.

"I have yet to encounter a student that hasn't, in the long run, benefited from discussing such events and difficulties with someone."

She held up a hand to forestall Harry's automatic reply, her stern demeanor returning, stopping him in his tracks.

"I know this isn't something you want to hear. I only ask that you hear me out, and consider. I don't require an answer." She sighed, dropping her hand back to her side. "All your teachers are here to help you learn, and grow. You can go to any of them, at any time, if you need help. Myself included."

Harry nodded slowly, recognizing her tone well enough to know she would accept nothing less.

"Think on it Mr. Potter," she said, stepping back, and allowing him to stand. "That is all I ask."

He nodded again, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

"It's nearly breakfast time," she said, releasing him from the uncomfortable conversation. "Get down there and get plenty to eat, your body will need the sustenance after regrowing those muscles."

"Thank you," he said quietly, before bidding her goodbye, and heading straight for the great hall, ruminating on her advice the whole way.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur sighed as her mother entered her room, her presence promising yet another day of introspection and talking about her experience in the lake. Her mother had barely left her side in the week following the second task, opting instead to ensure Fleur had left no aspect of her trauma in the lake unexamined. Fleur had found the attention comforting in the beginning, a warm feeling of love to push away the cold fingers that had nearly stolen her life. But a week was beginning to wear on her patience. Both Gabrielle and her Father had left, her father needing to return to his position at the ministry, while Gabrielle returned to Beauxbatons.

"No need to sigh at me," her mother said briskly, tossing her heavy cloak on Fleur's desk chair. "I simply want to make sure you're okay."

"I know," Fleur replied with a yawn, sitting down on her bed, gesturing for her mother to join her. It had become routine, even after only a week.

"I know you grow tired of these conversations, Fleur," she said, instead of her usual 'How are you feeling?'

Fleur nodded in reply, trying to find a nice way to express her thoughts. "I know you want to help," she said after a moment, "but-"

"I know," her mother cut in. "I could see that you weren't gaining anything from our conversations any longer, and I don't want you to…"

Fleur looked over in surprise as her normally articulate and unflappable mother cast a watery, sideways glance at her before continuing.

"I don't want you to resent me."

Before Fleur could do any more than stare, dumbfounded, her mother was again speaking, though her voice had become rushed, and nervous.

"The talks were for both of us really," she admitted. "I'm still far from over what happened down there. We almost lost you…" she paused, wetting her suddenly dry mouth, "again."

Fleur froze, suddenly regretting her irritation. A memory bubbled to the surface, her question escaping her before she could hold it back.

"Why did you tell Gabrielle about what happened at the Louvre?" Fleur asked, her voice much calmer than when she'd imagined the conversation.

"We only told her that someone tried to kidnap you there," her mother said, shock giving way to defensiveness. "She's ten for goodness sake. We wouldn't have told her anything if she hadn't asked."

"She asked you what happened at the Louvre?" Fleur asked dubiously.

"Of course not." Her mother sighed, visibly calming herself. "When your father and I first sat her down for her talk, we asked her if she had any questions at the end. She asked if anything bad had happened to me or you because of who we are."

Fleur nodded, remembering her own 'talk,' and the parts of it that had frightened her.

"I think it scared her," Apolline said quietly. "She was interested and engaged in the conversation until that point. After that she just shut down, and began to avoid the discussion at all costs."

Apolline turned to Fleur, gratitude and relief clear in her expression. "Thank you for talking with her. I could tell she was more at ease after speaking with you. You're such a good big sister."

Fleur felt her face and ears redden at the praise.

"I just want it to be easier for her," Fleur said. "For her to have someone who understands what it's like."

"I understand," her mother said, a hint of playful petulance in her tone.

"Someone who doesn't still call it the 'Veela Charm'," Fleur replied, gratefully taking the bait.

"It's just a phrase," the older woman said, crossing her arms.

"One that promotes the misguided image people have of us and our heritage. It's why it's known as a lustful 'Allure' instead of simply our Veela Abilities...or our Veela Curse," Fleur added, letting a little petulance of her own seep through.

"Oh hush," her mother said good-naturedly. "Though speaking of which," she continued, her voice somehow becoming both sly and nonchalant all at once. "You haven't mentioned Harry even once outside of the tournament, even though he featured in almost every letter since you two met. What happened?"

Fleur felt her rising mood plummet. She'd hoped to avoid questions about Harry. Though weeks had passed, his polite but equally devastating rejections still burned bright in her mind. Her instinct was to avoid the subject, but she knew it'd be dragged out of her eventually.

"I told Harry that I could sense him at the ball," she admitted. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she spoke.

"I gather you did not share the information in a timely manner? I had assumed he already knew when you wrote me about it, or I'd have counseled you to tell him as soon as possible."

Fleur nodded at the implied reprimand, shame burning in her cheeks.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Apolline said with a sigh. "We've all done the same thing at least once."

"Did you do it to Papa?" Fleur asked, curiosity piercing her gloomy state.

"Yes," her mother admitted, chagrined. "It came out during an argument. He told me he was fine, and I told him that I knew he wasn't." She winced at the memory, before a small smile crept across her lips. "He was so surprised that he forgot he was upset. He spent the next hour quizzing me on how the people nearby were feeling."

Fleur smiled at the image, but it slipped quickly from her face.

"Harry took it rather badly," she admitted. "At least as far as I can tell. He's still polite, but I think he's avoiding me.

Her mother frowned, deep in thought.

"Everybody has things they don't want to share with the world," she said slowly. "I'm sure he has his reasons for being so protective of his privacy. The only thing you can do right now is respect that."

"I'm not sure I'll even get the chance," Fleur replied morosely. "Like I said, he doesn't want to see me."

"Don't you remember writing to me after seeing him so badly burned," Apolline asked gently, "and how much you regretted not taking the chance to get to know him better? I don't think it's too much to assume he will feel the same."

"He got burned nearly to death by that dragon," Fleur argued, trying in vain to suppress the memory that was fighting to surface. An unconscious Harry, his head tilted to the side as he floated by, exposing his charred and blackened skin. Sinew and muscle visible where the skin had been completely burned away. She felt bile rise in her throat as she pushed both it, and the memory down.

"I just-" Fleur attempted, but was cut off by a sharp look from her mother.

"You "just" drowned. As he was holding on to you," she said fiercely. "He will, at the absolute least, check to make sure you're okay."

Fleur nodded, trying to quash the hope blooming in her chest. Another rejection would hurt all the more should she hope for reconciliation, but maybe she hadn't ruined things. Maybe the could still work things out, and still be friends.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out in frustration. In a few short months she had gone from a stoic loner, content with her distance and solitude from others, to a blubbering mess, desperate for the companionship of just one person. She tasted the coppery tang of blood moments before her mother wrapped her arms around her in a firm embrace. One arm curled around Felur's shoulders, the other gently pulling her head down to rest on her mother's shoulder.

"I know," Apolline soothed as angry tears began to course their way down Felur's face. "I know what it is to be at war with yourself, unsure how to cross the vast distance between you and everyone else. A distance created by...by our heritage. I know what it's like to meet someone who can cross that chasm, and I know what it's like to be left there, to fall into it, alone."

Fleur wrapped her arms around her mother as she drew in a shuddering breath. Apolline squeezed Fleur as she continued, speaking softly, her chin resting atop her daughter's head.

"I know it can make you feel powerless. It's like it takes your autonomy from you, and begins to direct your life."

Fleur nodded against her mother, blinking rapidly to try and fight back more tears.

"And please don't be mad," her mother continued, "but I also know how powerless you must have felt at the bottom of that dreadful lake when you realized you couldn't save your sister."

Fleur grip tightened painfully around her mother, fistfulls of robes clenched tight in her hands. She gritted her teeth, fighting against the sobs trying to escape.

"It's okay," her mother said as Fleur's body began to heave as wails of frustration and grief issued from her. She cried against her mother, like she hadn't done since being a young girl of thirteen, who finally understood the solitude of being Veela.

Apolline held Fleur against her breast as her daughter cried and raged against the injustice and unfairness of their place in the world. She gently stroked Fleur's hair, just as her mother had done for her what seemed like a lifetime ago. She quietly chastised herself as she comforted Fleur. Gabrielle wasn't her only daughter struggling with new changes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, doing his best to keep his head down. The days following the second task had been a whirlwind of questions and praise, and thankfully fewer 'Potter Stinks' badges. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find Ron at his side throughout it all, running interference as necessary when the curious students got too pushy. What he hadn't been pleased about, was the distance he now felt between himself and Hermione. Ever since his shameful display he'd felt uncomfortable being around her, and he could clearly tell she felt the same. She'd barely spoken to him, and when she had, her nervousness shone through like a beacon.

Harry looked up tiredly as the post arrived in a flurry of wings. He was surprised to see Hedwig break away from the multitude of feathers, and land gracefully in front of him. He carefully removed the small letter from her leg, curiosity mixing heavily with anxiety. There were precious few people Hedwig would carry a letter for, and even fewer that weren't able to find him quickly within the halls of Hogwarts. He had a hunch about who had sent the message.

He'd been split between dreading and hoping for the chance to see Fleur again. In the few days since the second tasks, he'd felt her absence far more keenly than before. He could now understand her desire to see him after he'd been burnt by the dragon. He'd do anything to stop the nightmares of her cold body hanging limp in his arms.

He forced his eyes to focus on the letter, and was surprised to see his name written in an elegant but unfamiliar script. He opened the letter, doing his best to ignore Hermione's tentative, but interested gaze.

 _Mr. Potter,_

 _I apologize for not meeting you in person to make this request, but I find moving through the castle onerous and difficult, for reasons I'm sure Fleur has explained to you. I will be returning to France tomorrow, and I was hoping you would agree to meet us for dinner this evening at the Three Broomsticks. We will be there at seven, so please join us if you would be so kind._

 _I look forward to meeting you properly._

 _Yours,_

 _Apolline Delacour_

Harry folded the letter, tucking it into his robes quickly before anyone could see. He tried not to notice Hermione frowning at him, or Ron glancing his direction as he stood and left the table. They stared after Harry as he left, both considering their departing friend.

"Something's eating him up," Ron said, startling Hermione with his unusual perceptiveness.

"Well...yes," she said eventually, caught too off-balance to offer a more intelligent reply.

Ron looked over at her in surprise, his blue eyes widening in realization. "You know what it is."

Hermione nodded, her eyes downcast, preparing herself mentally for Ron's questions.

"I guess-" Ron said finally, scratching at his nose, "-I guess he'll tell me if he wants to."

"That's very mature of you Ron," Hermione said, trying not to let her surprise show.

"Well, it's like you said. It's not enough to want to be better. I have to actually be better. Right?" he said, his expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.

Hermione favored him with a smile, a wave of warm appreciation surging through her at hearing Ron take her advice to heart.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry approached the Three Broomsticks, nervousness and excitement warring within him. The cold evening air rushed by in a gust of wind, stinging his ears and nose. He shivered, and pushed open the door to the warm, raucous entrance of the Three Broomsticks.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Madam Rosmerta said, beckoning him closer. "They're upstairs waiting for you. Second room."

Harry ignored the obvious attention and whispers as he passed occupied tables on the way to the stairs. Though he'd never appreciated all the attention his unwanted fame got him, at least the whispers were beginning to sound positive after the second task. He'd had quite enough of overhearing derogatory comments as he passed.

He quickly ascended the stairs, though he could feel his disquiet at the extra attention shift back to nervousness as he approached the closed door where Apolline and Fleur awaited him. He was met by a muffled, "Come in!" as he knocked on the large wooden door. He pushed open the door to a large, warm room with a circular table set in the middle. Along the wall was a hearth which housed a roaring fire in front of two large chairs, prompting Harry to remove his large winter cloak as he stepped through the threshold, already feeling sweat begin to bead on his brow. He hung his cloak next to the door, and turned to face the two women.

"Mr. Potter," Fleur's mother said happily as he opened the door. "Please join us!"

She gestured to an empty seat at the circular table between her, and a surprisingly bashful Fleur.

"Please, Harry is fine, ma'am," he said, stepping forward to accept the offered seat.

Fleur's mother smiled, glancing over at Fleur before speaking.

"And you may call me Apolline."

Harry again notice Apolline's surprisingly husky voice coming from such a petite woman. He hadn't known what to expect when he'd imagined Fleur's mother, but he realized he'd expected a near carbon copy of Fleur. Instead she wore her shoulder-length hair loose, framing a face whose features held clear indication that she was indeed Fleur's mother.

Harry nodded in reply as he lowered himself into the seat. He looked from Apolline to Fleur, who offered him a small comforting smile, despite her obvious nerves.

"So," Apolline said into the sudden silence, eliciting a surprised jump from both Harry and Fleur. "Fleur tells me you are surprisingly immune to the so-called 'Allure'."

"Not completely, ma'am...er, Apolline," he answered, doing his best not to look over at Fleur as he did so, though he couldn't help but notice her guilty start.

"Please do not be too hard on my daughter," Apolline implored, "most Veela have done the same at least once."

"Maman!" Fleur burst out indignantly. " _Vous avez dit que vous ne vous mêleriez pas_!" ( _You said you wouldn't meddle!_ )

" _Il est impoli de parler une langue que notre invité ne sait pas_ ," her mother replied calmly. ( _It's impolite to speak a language our guest does not understand_ )

She turned and smiled at Harry reassuringly. "Well, I can indeed tell that you are immune," Apolline said. "My senses aren't quite as sharp as Fleur's, but meeting an unaffected person who isn't an occlumens is a rarity indeed."

"Yes-" Harry replied slowly, Apolline's quick and flowing speech throwing him off balance, "-she told me."

"Did she?" Apolline asked quirking an eyebrow as a sly grin grew on her face. "Did she tell you about the time in her fourth year at Beauxbatons when-"

"Maman!" Fleur nearly shouted, color flushing through her cheeks and down her neck as she dropped her face into her hands.

"I'm only joking," placated Apolline. "I wouldn't be so crass as to reveal your embarrassing moments over a first dinner." She shot another smile over at Harry who looked over at Fleur, who had begun muttering in French. He looked back to Apolline, a carefully neutral expression on his face. His look brought her up short, her smile slowly slipping from her face. Fleur hadn't mentioned how serious he could be, and the guarded expression he now offered concerned her.

"I'm sorry Harry," she said sincerely, swiftly switching tactics. "I thought you might be uncomfortable if I had started our conversation by thanking you again for saving our daughter. Not to mention you then turned around and selflessly released her from her debt to you."

Rather than blush and deny his heroics as she'd expected, she saw him suddenly grow still, a ghost of something passing over his eyes before he seemed to come back to himself.

"I couldn't just do nothing," he said quietly, his eyes focused down on his plate.

"And I'm glad you didn't," Apolline replied earnestly, finally earning herself a small smile from Harry. She sighed inwardly. So that's how he was. No-nonsense and straightforward. She'd have to apologize to Fleur later for embarrassing her in her attempts to get Harry to open up and relax.

After shifting the conversation to safer topics, Harry answered her questions dutifully, asking the occasional question of his own about France and her time at Beauxbatons. As the evening wore away, Apolline stood, excusing herself, citing an early morning's return to France. As she put on her cloak, she was struck by the realization that despite a reasonably lengthy conversation, she'd learned next to nothing about the serious young man.

"You should expect an invite to our home this summer," she advised Harry, hesitating as she saw the corners of his eyes tighten.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice again becoming quiet and guarded, "but I'll be busy this summer."

"Perhaps on one of the holiday breaks then during the year," she continued, undeterred. "Sebastian was beside himself that he had to return to work before getting the chance to properly meet you. And Gabrielle thinks the world of you."

Harry smiled, only nodding in reply.

"I'll see you later Fleur," Apolline said, suppressing a smile at the nervousness apparent on Fleur's features. It had always been so easy to tell what was on Fleur's mind, and was especially easy while next to a closed-book like Harry.

Fleur stepped forward, and gave her an unusually stiff hug, clearly still upset about her earlier embarrassment.

An uneasy silence fell between Harry and Fleur as the door shut behind her mother.

"I'm sorry!" Fleur burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. She saw Harry jump in surprise before giving her a quizzical look.

"I'm sorry for hiding things from you, and I'm sorry for making you save me!"

Harry watched Fleur as she began to fidget, clearly nervous. He suppressed a smile as she grabbed a handful of silvery hair, and began running it between her thumb and forefinger.

"It's okay," he said, happy to discover the truth behind his words. He'd felt petty for avoiding her before the second task, and had realized he desperately needed to see her, to make sure she was okay.

Fleur seemed to scrutinize him for a moment before breaking out into a brilliant smile that made his heart skip a beat in pleasure. Her smile faded as she seemed to gather courage to speak further.

"I thought it might help if I promised to tell you the moment I'm able to sense you. If it happens again that is," she said, wringing her hands as she spoke.

"I'd like that," Harry admitted, trying to force down the anxiety threatening to surface at the idea.

Fleur gestured to the two comfortable looking, but well-worn chairs next to the roaring fire.

"You don't have to be sorry about the lake," Harry said as he lowered himself into the fire-warmed seat. "You were just trying to save your sister."

Fleur bit her lip, looking distantly into the fire.

"I'm not necessarily sorry you had to rescue me," Fleur clarified, looking back over at him. "I thought she would die if I didn't save her. I had to give it everything I had." She paused, noting with a perverse sense of pride that she'd done exactly that. "I'm sorry you had to feel me d-drown."

Harry leaned back in his chair, the haunted expression again shadowing his features, no-doubt vividly recalling the memory of her drowning in his arms, just as she'd had to shake away the vision of his charred body when she'd first asked to meet him.

"I'd do it again," he finally said, nodding to himself. "So I suppose that's okay too." He smiled at her. It was small and nervous, but genuine. "Just please be careful in the third task."

Fleur could only marvel at Harry, watching as he began to fidget uncomfortably under her unblinking gaze.

"Thank you, Harry," she finally said, her voice quiet and sincere.

He looked over at her in surprise. "You don't have to thank me."

Fleur pursed her lips, knowing she'd not get him to fully understand her gratitude just by talking, he was a person of action, not words.

"I realized," Fleur said instead, putting her attempts at gratitude on hold, "that I've done a lot of talking about myself when we're together, and rudely asked very little about you. What do you like to do while not at Hogwarts?" she asked giving him a teasing smile. "Hopefully no other dangerous situations where you end up saving someone?"

To her surprise, instead of opening up, he seemed to withdraw as he absently began rubbing his arm. She saw an odd, tentative guilt in his eyes as he looked back to her, and she was stunned by the thought that began forming in her mind.

"Have you-" she finally managed, "-have you had to save someone else?"

Harry stopped rubbing his arm, ignoring the phantom basilisk fang piercing it in his memories. He didn't want Fleur to think of him differently, but he knew it wasn't fair that she'd shared so much about herself and her experiences, while he'd kept everything to himself. As he thought, Fleur began to backtrack.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said quickly.

Harry smiled, some of his anxiety abating.

"I have." he said slowly, the idea of volunteering information about himself feeling bizarre and alien. "It was mostly just luck though."

"How?" asked Fleur.

"Well," Harry said dryly, "how long have you got?"

"As long as it takes," Fleur answered, settling down into her chair. She wasn't going to mess up this second chance he was giving her. No matter what.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You know this sounds completely insane, right?" Fleur interrupted as Harry finished detailing the dying screams of an evil sentient diary.

"Yeah," Harry admitted quietly, staring out a frosty window towards the castle. He'd been hoping she'd believe him and his story, but he wasn't the least bit surprised that she didn't.

"I don't really have any way to convince you, besides taking you to the chamber," he said, trying to hide the desperation he felt. He wanted her to believe him, but he didn't want to return to that hidden nightmare room.

"Oh," Fleur said, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I believe you Harry. I worded that poorly. You have given me no reason to distrust you."

"But even I barely believe it," Harry replied desperately, unsure why he was pushing her acceptance away, "and I was there."

"Well," Fleur admitted, smiling apologetically as she raised a finger to her forehead, "it's not the only unbelievable thing about you. I think that makes it a little easier to accept."

"Still," Harry said, frustration seeping into his words, "I wish I could prove it."

"You could swear an unbreakable vow that you're telling the truth," she said while waving the suggestion away as it left her lips. "The downside would be that you would die if you weren't being truthful."

"I'll do it!" Harry said fiercely, nearly rising from his seat. Finally, a way to make someone understand the truth. "What do I have to do?"

"You don't have to do that Harry," Fleur said, her tone as gentle and reassuring as she could make it. "I don't actually trust you if I ask you to prove yourself."

Rather than reject her words, as she'd expected, Harry sank back into his chair, his eyes subtly squinting as he digested her statement. She allowed the silence to grow as he processed what she'd said.

"Thanks," he said finally, shocking her with his soft sincerity, "for believing me. About everything so far. Most don't usually."

"Your two friends do though, right?" she asked, hoping to steer away from the topic of the, thankfully shrinking, anti-Harry sentiment that was obvious within the school.

"Hermione does," Harry answered immediately, suppressing a guilty wince for being so cold to her. "Ron comes around eventually."

Fleur frowned, trying to keep her displeasure in check. She remembered how fragile Harry had looked in the owlery, and his unmitigated surprise at her belief in him. A laugh from Harry startled Fleur out of her thoughts. She gave him a questioning look as his laughter slowly died away.

"He really does," Harry said finally. "He's not that bad."

"I didn't say he was," replied Fleur, fighting furiously to keep the pout from her tone.

"I know," Harry said soothingly. "It's just that…" he trailed off, looking toward the fire, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "It's just that you're pretty easy to read. I can almost always tell what you're feeling."

Fleur arched an eyebrow, falling into an old habit while she floundered internally for a reply. She did her best to ignore the irony of being the easily read one as she searched for an answer.

"I don't mean that in a bad way!" Harry said, backtracking. "I just...really like it."

Fleur stopped searching for an appropriately indignant, teasing reply, instead opting for sincerity.

"Why?"

"So many people are two-faced," Harry answered. "Or they aren't, but the one they've got is a right slimy bastard."

Fleur laughed in surprise at Harry's sudden vulgarity, causing him to flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"Don't be," Fleur said with a chuckle. "It's true."

"It's just rare for me to meet someone so genuine, so when I do...it's nice," he said, trailing off.

The pure and dazzling smile she offered him in return was a balm to soothe away any lingering embarrassment.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Hermione closed her large book, letting out a disappointed sigh. Her research into Veela had turned up surprisingly little information. Most books she'd come across simply mentioned their ability to transform, and their 'allure'. If she had to read one more sentence about how rare immunity to Veela was, she thought she might scream. She leaned back in her favorite, secluded chair in the library, running a hand through her hair in irritation. She could feel her focus slipping, and the guilt she'd be trying so hard to avoid rearing its head.

She knew she'd done the right thing when she';d told her head-of-house about Harry's reaction to what happened down in the lake. She'd hoped Harry wouldn't be too mad at her for telling Professor McGonagall, but she couldn't help but notice the distance he'd put between them. Hopefully he'd forgive her. She knew how much he hated it when people pried into how he was feeling, but what she'd witnessed just couldn't be ignored. The pain and horror she'd seen in his eyes as he detailed the horrific event had chilled her to her core.

She shook away the memory of his raw, haunted gaze, and dove back into the safety of her research. There had to be something about Veela in her books. She certainly didn't think Fleur was a bad person really, but Harry shown more interest in her than he'd shown about any other person. Sure she was pretty, but it seemed to be more than just that. At least she thought it was anyway. She let out an irritated sigh as she turned the page.

Boys. Honestly.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry slowly walked a familiar path through the halls of Hogwarts, his feet reluctantly marching him towards the library, and Hermione's dot on the Marauder's Map. He battled furiously with the anxiety trying to well up inside him, fear beginning to bloom at the thought of talking alone with his friend. It was Hermione after all. She probably wouldn't judge him too poorly for one little breakdown. His steps faltered as he remembered the way she had ignored him the morning after his embarrassing meltdown, and the way she'd seemed so reluctant to talk to him.

He forced himself to keep walking, and tried to pull himself together. He'd promised Fleur he'd ask if Hermione would come meet her properly, in an attempt to widen her group of friends.

As he walked through the library shelves, he saw his friend pouring over a mound of books in her favorite spot.

"Hermione," he said as he approached, hoping she didn't notice the nervousness he was feeling. His heart sank as she gave a surprise start, and looked around guiltily.

"Oh! Harry, I didn't expect you," Hermione replied awkwardly, internally chastising herself. It was Harry for goodness sake. If he knew she'd talked to Professor McGonagall about him, and didn't like it, he'd have said something. Right?

"Sorry," he replied automatically. "I just wanted to ask you something."

Hermione's eyes went wide in mild panic as she began to gesture vaguely at the pile of books in front of her. He was mad about it, and he was about to tell her off. She didn't want to lose one of her only friends.

"Well," she said quickly, before he could continue, "I'm somewhat busy."

Harry nodded, easily recognizing one of Hermione's research frenzies when he saw one. "It'll only be a second," he said, barreling on despite her meager protests. "Fleur asked me to see if you'd meet with her one evening. She wants to get to know you too."

Hermione's surprised and panicked look slowly melted away as she cast another glance over the assembled books.

"I do have some questions," she muttered, angrily closing an offending unhelpful textbook.

Harry glanced at the title, surprised to see "The Fey and Sprites of Eastern Europe" rather than a school textbook like he'd expected. Next to it lay "Barrelbore's Guide to Sentient Magical Beings" and "The True Accounts of Sirenum Scopuli."

Hermione noticed his attention, and brightened.

"I've done a bit of reading on Veela," she began, gesturing to the piles of books she classified as 'a bit'. "Did you know-".

"I don't want to know," Harry interrupted as kindly as he could manage. "Don't you think it would be a little strange if someone could read all about you in a book?"

Hermione flushed, her mind dredging up the memory of their first meeting, and the numerous books she'd mentioned reading all about him.

"Okay," she eventually said, her voice surprisingly quiet and tentative. "Are you going to be there too?"

Harred nodded, leaving Fleur's similar request unmentioned.

"You can use Hedwig to send her your reply," said Harry as Hermione gathered her things.s "It's easier than trying to track her down."

Hermione nodded as she stood, apprehension warring with curiosity inside her.

That evening, a small, quiet part of her mind looked on hopefully as she tied her small note to Hedwig's leg. It would be nice to a friend that wasn't a boy.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry and Hermione walked in silence towards the agreed upon classroom, both lost in their own thoughts about the coming meeting. Their steps echoed off the mostly empty halls, only passing the occasional student as they walked. The chill February air radiated out from the windows as they passed, only serving to speed Harry's steps towards the fire he knew would be blazing at their destination.

As they rounded the last corner, a flickering light beneath the crack of the closed door announced Fleur's early arrival. They stopped outside, Hermione visibly gathering herself before knocking. Harry looked on with a small smile. Fleur could be intimidating, but hopefully Hermione would see that she's actually really nice. He stood to the side as Hermione knocked tentatively at the door, both waiting for a reply before entering.

"Come in," came Fleur's voice a few moments later, and a little too loud. Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh, or be even more apprehensive. Clearly they were all nervous.

Hermione stepped into the room first, her gaze drawn to three chairs placed uncomfortably close to the roaring fire, prompting a passage from Barrelbore's guide to spring into her mind.

"Hello," Fleur greeted, smiling nervously between Harry and Hermione. "Thank you for coming."

Hermione was caught short of replying as she took in Fleur in the firelight. She'd talked to Fleur once before, when she'd asked after Harry's condition following the First Task, but the older girl had been wrapped in heavy winter clothes, and all but fled Hermione's question. In the small room, just a few paces apart, Hermione was able to keep a good look at the woman who had become Harry's newest friend.

The firelight turned Fleur's usually silvery hair a flickering orange as the light flickered around the room. Hermione noticed her sky-blue eyes darting around nervously above perfect white teeth. She blinked up at Fleur, all her questions seeming to fall out of her damnable frizzy head.

"Hi," Harry greeted quietly, glancing over to the chairs. He slowly stepped forward to pull one of the chairs back from the fire, his motion snapping Hermione back into the moment, allowing her to follow suit.

"Thanks for inviting me," Hermione said as she pulled her own seat away from the fireplace.

"Of course," Fleur said, sitting down as well. "Harry speaks quite highly of you. I thought it might be nice for us to meet, and learn about each other."

Hermione nodded, a little of her nervousness fading as her questions slowly came back into her mind.

"Harry has told you some of my situation?" Fleur asked. "Of what being Veela is like?"

"Well, no," Hermione answered, surprised at the question. "He's pretty good at keeping secrets. He doesn't like to talk about other people's personal business." She paused, trying to fight back her embarrassment. "I did do some research though," she admitted quietly.

"Oh? What did you find?" Fleur asked curiously.

"Surprisingly little," said Hermione. "I did find that most Veela prefer heat to cold."

"The downside to having a fire affinity," Fleur replied. "The colder winters here as compared to home are torture."

"Can you really throw fire?" Hermione burst out.

Fleur smiled, feeling the girls embarrassment at the sudden question.

"I can," she answered levelly, raising a hand. A large rolling ball of flame leapt into existence in the air.

Hermione leaned back from the pulsing heat that washed over her. She heard a noise of surprise from Harry as well.

"Doesn't it burn to be so close? Even with an affinity it's awfully hot," Hermione asked as sweat began to bead on her brow.

"It's my fire," Fleur replied, waving her free hand directly through the flame in demonstration. "It cannot hurt me."

She snuffed out the fireball, glancing over at Harry who had been staring the entire time. She'd told him about the 'allure' at their first meeting, but hadn't touched on her other abilities. The ones that some argued made her sub-human.

She let out an inaudible sigh of relief when she only saw silent interest from him.

"Amazing," Hermione whispered, wonder clear in her voice and sense. "It's like your own personal wandless, non-verbal magic."

"Not exactly," Fleur corrected. ""To put it simply, it is like there is a fire inside me, and I can draw from it. It can be exhausting though. I would not use it if I could use my wand."

"And the fireballs get even larger after you've transformed, right?"

"They do," Fleur answered, her voice deliberately level and calm.

"Can you change whenever you want?" Hermione asked her eyes wide as she leaned forward in her chair, her features and sense practically screaming out her intrigue.

"I can." Fleur allowed the unasked question to hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "But I will not." She smiled to soften her words. "I am not a carnival animal for performing tricks."

"Of course not," Hermione said quickly, the flash of guilt in Fleur's sense of the girl making the truth clear. She felt Hermione shift from guilt and embarrassment back into nervousness, before settling at a general determination. Apparently she'd decided on her next question. Fleur steeled herself, hoping she wouldn't have to refuse yet again.

"So," Hermione began slowly. "What do you like to do for fun?"

Fleur blinked at the unexpected question. She could still feel the curiosity clearly within Hermione, but the girl's determination held solid alongside.

"I like to read," Fleur finally answered, a feeling of homesickness suddenly washing intensely over her. She missed all her books, and the window in her private room. She especially missed sitting in the large window seat, reading during her free time as the sun warmed her.

"Really?" Hermione asked, her sense turning almost completely to excitement. Fleur looked over in surprise as Harry let out a soft chuckle from his seat. He'd been so silent in his observation she'd almost forgotten he was there.

"What do you like to read?" Hermione asked, speaking so fast Fleur almost had trouble understanding her English. "I really enjoy historical books about the magical world, and biographies of famous witches and wizards."

"I prefer fiction to non-fiction," Fleur answered once Hermione had finished. She wasn't about to tell someone who read biographies for fun that she preferred to read either over-the-top adventure novels, or cheesy romance ones. Preferably both.

"Oh I enjoy fiction as well," replied Hermione. "Particularly mysteries. Do you have a favorite? I'm terrible at choosing my favorites."

Fleur smiled at Hermione's exuberance, all traces of her nervousness brushed away by her clear obsession with reading.

"I quite like 'The Witch's Niece'," Fleur said after a moment's thought, opting for a safe choice.

"That one was rather good. An interesting re-imagining," Hermione said, tapping a finger on her chin in thought. "I thought the Chronos Circle was enjoyable, even if rather slow at times."

Harry watched his two friends talk, a small smile growing on his face. Every moment he spent with Fleur he could feel the spectorthe second task falling further and further away. He felt his mind began to wander as Fleur and Hermione began discussing transfiguration. He sat patiently as they talked, enjoying both the warmth of the fire and his friends.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry settled in to bed later that evening, the odd sense of contentment lingering as he closed his eyes. He quickly dozed off, his mind recreating the room in his dreams. Hermione and Fleur still sat, chatting away by the fire, though something was different, out of place. Instead of her loose hair as it'd been in reality, Fleur was wearing an orange ribbon across her forehead, holding her hair back, away from her eyes. The fabric held a similarly orange flower resting against her temple. It was the flower that caught his eye. While the majority of the flower was the same sunset orange as the ribbon, the very tips of the petals seemed to almost glow a luminescent purple, pulsing slightly as he stared.

Before he could examine it any further, a loud, melodious laugh from dream Fleur caught his attention, and he was lost to the fiction of the dream.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You've got to give me something, Dumbledore," Moody growled angrily, stomping his wooden leg on the ground for emphasis, the loud noise echoing through the Headmaster's large office. "It's been months since Potter's name came out of the goblet, and over half a year gone since the murders at the World Cup. Are we just going to sit around and wait for the worst?"

"Certainly not, Alastor," Dumbledore replied gravely from where he stood behind his large desk. "I am quite aware of the situation."

"Has there really been no progress at all?" Sirius asked, his hands outstretched, warming his still bone-thin fingers on the blazing fire.

"We have, as yet, been unable to determine motivation behind Harry's inclusion in the tournament."

"It's him," Moody spat, dropping into a newly conjured chair. "He's on the move. I can feel it."

"We do not know that Voldemoret is the driving force at work behind Harry's predicament."

"You've got to be joking, Dumbledore," Sirius interrupted, dropping his hands to his side as he turned to face the Headmaster. The firelight hung off the sunken angles of his face, the steely glint in his eyeshifting his visage into every inch the hardened criminal the Ministry claimed him to be. "Are you willing to bet Harry's life on it?"

Dumbledore's eyes flashed to meet Sirius's stern gaze.

"Do not insult me, Sirius." His voice did not change in pitch or tone, but Sirius could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Dumbledore glared at him.

Moody's answering chuckle made Sirius jump. "Theatrics aside, Potter's life is still on the line here. We need to come up with a plan. Even a bad one is better than none."

"I assume you mean your suggestion to place a tracking charm on Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"It would help," Moody replied, shrugging. "You can't argue that."

"It's the significant invasion of privacy that concerns me," answered Dumbledore. "Harry is a very private individual. I do not think he would agree to constant monitoring. Regardless," he continued over the beginning of Moody's protest, "what purpose would tracking him serve? The Death Eaters cannot harm him within Hogwarts, neither could another one of Voldemort's shades."

"Just like the other two couldn't?" Sirius growled, taking some small sadistic pleasure at the guilt that briefly flashed across Dumbledore's aged features. "I'm not against a trace on Harry, even if it is overly paranoid."

"Again, I do not believe he will acquiesce to such a request," Dumbledore argued.

"I'll talk to him about it," Sirius replied. "If he says no, then we figure something else out. It can't hurt to try."

A nod from Dumbledore, and a less-than-polite grumble of assent from Moody answered his question.

"In equally frustrating news," Dumbledore continued with a tired sigh. "Sebastian has yet to uncover any information to aid you on the Ministry side of your mistrial, Sirius."

"Pettigrew or Veritaserum is the only way I'll be pardoned," Sirius grumbled, slouching into another nearby chair. "And they'll have me kissed if I show up requesting Veritaserum."

"Bunch of bureaucratic bastards," Moody cut in. "If there's nothing else, I'm going to keep an eye on Karkaroff. He's been too good lately. Like he's being on his best behavior. It's suspicious. I think he's up to something."

"Please do not antagonize Durmstrang's Headmaster if you can help it, but I won't attempt to dissuade you either," Dumbledore replied, before turning to Sirius. "We'll keep working on this. I have others out searching for any word on Peter. We will get you your freedom as soon as we can."

Sirius simply nodded, the flame of hope burning feebly within him. So long as he could find a way to help Harry, he'd be happy.


	12. Chapter 12

"Again!" Moody shouted, thumping his wooden leg against the floor for accent. Harry readied his wand as he'd been instructed, waiting for the targets to resume their flight. He had to admit, he was noticeably better than he'd been when Moody had first approached him with his offer.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry had been walking with Ron and Hermione, doing his best to stay out of the brewing argument. Ron _had_ been doing better, but their private meeting with Fleur had somehow gotten under his skin.

"It's not any of your business _who_ I choose to talk to, Ronald!" Hermione said testily. "There's no reason for you to be upset. You'd have spent the whole time gaping like an idiot anyway, why would you even want to meet with her?"

"I just..." Ron trailed off, surprising Harry. Ron shook his head. "I just wanted...I dunno. I'll see you guys in class."

He broke away from their small group, walking quickly ahead towards the charms classroom.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed. "Throwing a fit just because he wants to be close to a pretty girl."

Harry kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to step in front of that particular train of thought. Hermione had mentioned Fleur's looks in almost every conversation about their first meeting, and he knew better than to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

"Mr. Potter," a gravelly voice called out as they rounded a corner, Professor Moody hobbling down the hall towards them. "Could I have a moment?"

"Yes, sir," he answered. Hermione stopped alongside him, watching curiously.

"Move along Miss Granger," Moody said, his eye swivelling towards her. "He'll be along shortly."

With an embarrassed, "Yes, sir," she hurried away, her bushy hair bouncing as she all but ran down the hall.

"I'll keep it short Potter. Your godfather and I think you should be under surveillance."

Harry goggled at Moody. "You know about him?" he trailed off, looking around and the busy hallway.

"Of course," Moody answered. "He and Dumbledore insisted we get your permission for the tracking charm first. I'd have done it regardless, since it could well save your life, but they insisted."

"How could a tracking charm save me?"

"The third task is a magical maze, and we haven't made much headway on the 'why' of your name being tossed out of that goblet, but we're positive it's nothing good. If I were the one trying to get to you, it'd be when you're out of sight and hard to get to quickly."

"I-" Harry tried, but Moody swiftly barreled over his words.

"You'll also be doing some extra lessons with me," he said, his magical eye locking onto Harry's as though searching for any sign of argument. "You'll meet with me three times a week after dinner, and you'd better come prepared. I aim to give you as many tools to survive as I'm able. You've got to be able to protect yourself."

Harry nodded quickly, the memory of Fleur's frantic gestures as she asked for air surfacing in his mind, and his ignorance that almost doomed her.

"Yes, sir!" Harry answered vehemently. He had to get better. He had to get stronger. Even if it meant he'd have to have a tracking spell placed on him, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn. Not anymore.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry focused on the targets as they once again resumed their sporadic flight around the empty classroom. Moody's training had been tough, and he'd been exhausted for the better part of the nearly four months he'd been participating in the "extra lessons." His friends had been upset at first, and even Fleur had expressed a bit of annoyance at his busy schedule, but when he'd told her it was training for the third task, she'd followed suit, beginning training of her own. Ron and Hermione had come around quick enough once they'd been told the reasoning behind Moody's insistence.

"Go!" Moody shouted, jarring Harry from his thoughts and spurring his wand into motion.

The targets fell one by one to his well-placed stunners, the wooden decoys clattering on the stone floor as they were each hit by his spell. Moody nodded approvingly as the last one hit the floor, vanishing them with a quick wave of his cane.

"So," Moody said, both eyes trained solidly on Harry. "You can master a stunner in almost record time, but you have trouble with the most basic of shield spells?"

Harry nodded, casting his eyes down to the floor. It'd been one of the few spots of contention between him and the Professor. He knew what was coming next, wincing at the memory of his last attempts at the shield spell, which found him flat on his back nursing a growing headache. The pale red stunner had shredded his shield, no matter how he'd tried to invision protecting himself while casting the spell.

"I've been thinking about this," Moody said, drumming his fingers on the large round top of his cane. "Normally we'd try to go smaller with the spell. That's how McGonagall does it. Make a tea cozy into a tea cup before you make a pencil into a bird, but that's not working for you here."

Harry felt his cheeks heat in frustration and shame. How was he supposed to help anyone if he couldn't even get a basic charm right?

"It's all about intent, Potter," Moody said, causing Harry to sigh in frustration. He'd heard that phrase almost as much as Moody's favored "Constant Vigilance," maybe even more, but no matter how hard he imagined a shield, his were always parchment thin. "Thinking small isn't working, so let's think big. How many people do you want to protect with that shield, Potter?"

"As many as I can, sir," Harry answered. He'd had Moody tell him plenty of different ways to imagine the shield, but he'd never asked such an odd question.

"All or nothing then, huh?" Moody asked, a smirk creasing his scarred face. "You'd make a good Auror, I think." He gestured with his cane, throwing the door to the classroom open. "Come in!" he bellowed.

Harry stared in surprise as Ron and Hermione walked sheepishly through the open door, stopping behind Harry, one on either side.

"What are you two doing here?" Harry asked, before turning back to Moody, a sense of dread settling in his stomach.

"We wanted to help mate," Ron said from behind him.

"Focus, Potter," Moody said, raising his cane in front of him. "Are you going to protect them or not. Calm down and _focus_!"

Harry nodded, taking in a calming breath. He'd seen Ron and Hermione in danger often enough to give his nightmares plenty of fuel, and he'd sworn he wouldn't let Fleur down like that again. He _would_ protect them.

' _Protego'_ he intoned, thrusting his wand forward as he'd been instructed. His eyes widened as a shimmering, glassy wall spread from his wand, slowly growing until it had partitioned the room in half.

"Good!" Moody crowed, slamming his staff on the ground as he spoke. The flash of a blazing red stunner lit his half of the room as it impacted uselessly against Harry's shield. "Big enough to protect everyone too. Keep it up," he instructed, tossing another spell at a different part of the glimmering shield, "feel how the spell is moulded. Your enemies won't wait patiently for your spell to make its merry way across the battlefield. The more you practice, and _feel_ it, the faster it'll get."

Harry nodded, doing his best to feel out the spell. He'd never really _felt_ spells before Moody's lessons, but his improvement with the stunning spell after the same instruction had made him a believer.

"We'll work on this until the last task, as well as begin work on the Reductor Curse. If you master your basic offensive and defensive spells, you'll have a much better chance of making it through."

Harry swallowed thickly, the unknown dangers of the third task looming ominously in front of him. He gritted his teeth, forcing the anxiety away. This was the only way he'd be able to protect anyone, and the only way to keep what happened in that lake from happening again.

"Let's do it again, Potter. And stand still Weasley!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The third task closed in quickly, the cool spring months giving way as summer grew closer. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table alongside the Weasleys. Harry sat quietly, mechanically shoveling food in his mouth at Mrs. Weasley's insistence. Mr. Weasley and Bill chatted loudly, an air of forced joviality thick around the group. When Mr. Crouch had stood to ask everyone to the Quidditch Pitch, Harry felt his stomach flop nervously, almost emptying it's contents.

"Champions, if you would follow Mr. Bagman," said Crouch, gesturing to a waving Ludo Bagman. "He will escort you to the entrance of the maze.

Harry stood slowly, the rest of his group following suit. He tried to ignore the nervous glances exchanged all around him as he turned towards where the other champions stood, waiting.

"Be careful, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, wringing her hands in front of her, a sentiment echoed by the other Weasleys.

Harry could only nod, taking a step towards Mr. Bagman. His progress was impeded by Hermione, who barreled into him, knocking him back a step. He stood stiffly as she hugged him, doing his best not to offend his friend. They hadn't talked much since he'd shown so much weakness in front of her that night after the second task, though Moody's training hadn't really left much time for socializing. He supposed he should just be happy she still seemed to want to be his friend, let alone hug him. He pushed his anxiety at being touched down as hard as he was able. There was plenty to be nervous about, no need to panic over the small things.

"Oh, Harry," she said, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Please, please be careful. Hide if you can. You just have to wait for someone else to win, and it's over."

Harry nodded, awkwardly patting her back. She released him, giving him a watery smile before stepping away.

"Just toss up that shield charm of yours and you'll be just fine," Ron managed, a sickly grin on his face. Harry nodded mutely, quickly walking away to join the other champions.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The air of the transformed quidditch pitch was thick with anticipation as excited conversation drifted down from the crowd filling the stands. Harry looked around, taking in the sight with a strange sense of sadness. What he wouldn't give to be flying in the final match of the quidditch season instead of finishing this damnable tournament. He glanced over to the other champions, hoping to see at least a little of the nervousness he felt. He smiled as he glanced at Fleur, her determination and anxiety written clearly on her face. Cedric was jumping from foot to foot, his wide eyes roaming around the area trying to take in the immense maze in front of them.

Harry jumped in surprise as his gaze turned to Krum, who's dark eyes were trained on him. Harry quickly turned his attention back to Ludo Bagman, who'd begun detailing the rules. To Harry's surprise, he was to go first into the maze. He'd completely forgotten about the point totals following the second task, his singular concern for Fleur pushing everything else from his mind. Being the only one to actually complete the task, despite saving all the hostages instead of just his own, had catapulted him into the lead. He tried to swallow back his nervousness. He'd hoped to try and follow the trail of one of the other champions, avoiding as much conflict as he could.

"Welcome, welcome!" Ludo Bagman announced, his voice once again amplified to be heard over the dull roar of conversation. "We are about to begin the final task of the Triwizard Tournament! Our champions will enter the maze in order of their point totals, and must find their way past the traps, creatures, and other guardians to the Goblet of Fire, which rests at the center! The first one to grab the cup will be our Triwizard Champion! First will be Mr. Potter, followed by Ms. Delacour, then Mr. Krum and finally Mr. Diggory. Champions, are you ready?"

The four champions nodded, all four sets of eyes trained on the imposing entrance in front of them.

"Very well! Mr. Potter, begin!"

Harry raised his wand, slowly stepping forward and into the dark narrow maze. He expected Fleur, Cedric, and Krum would all run in, pushing themselves to be the first to the cup, but all he wanted to do was survive. He'd be cautious, and take it slow. He only had to survive until one of the others made it to the center.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry ran blindly through the maze, trying to follow the nearby sounds of the fight to their source. He'd been lost in the maze, dodging skrewts and gargoyles as he ran, when a sudden shout of angry surprise caught his ear. He felt his body tense when he recognized Fleur's distress, only one thought shining bright in his mind.

 _Not again. It can't happen again._

As he ran towards the grunts and shouts of exertion, he saw a flash of bright orange light illuminate the night sky. Thick black smoke rose to his left as he ran, his pulse thundering in his ears. He turned at a crossing, slowing as the hedges seemed to grow even higher, obstructing his view of the smoky pillar. He closed his eyes, allowing his nose to guide him where his eyes failed him. The smell of smoke was thick, and close. He grew nearer, grunts and shouts of exertion slowly becoming audible as he turned another corner in the giant foliage maze. He sucked in air as he sprinted, ignoring a stitch in his side. He pushed himself to go even faster, the unmistakable sound of Fleur's angry shouts spurring him forward.

Another turn brought Harry into a long narrow passage, the tall maze walls unable to obscure the black smoke any longer. Flashes of light illuminated the turn at the end of the passage. He forced himself to keep going, his legs protesting the continued sprint. He tried to remember everything he'd been over with Moody during his brief tutelage. He knew he was still a far cry from where the other champions stood at the top of their schools, but he could still help...he hoped.

As he drew nearer to the end of the tunnel, he heard a visceral, angry shriek of rage issue from Fleur. The sound, so unlike her calm clear voice stood Harry's neck hairs on end. He rounded the corner, running into a thin nearly transparent wall of silk as her voice shifted, the angry yell becoming shrill and painful. A sudden wall of heat knocked him over as he took in Fleur's form, her long hair held aloft behind her, buffeted by the immense waves of heat issuing from her. The light from two fireballs illuminated the area from their perch in the air above her hands. He stood slowly, peering through the silk in an attempt to get a better view of what was happening. He prodded experimentally at the barrier, the strong silk webbing not budging an inch as he pushed against it.

Fleur's furious shout finally died out, though the waves of heat washing over Harry only intensified, forcing him to take a step back against the onslaught. Thin sections of the webbing began to char and burn, allowing Harry a clearer window into the confrontation. Another shriek issued from Fleur, though he could no longer hear her voice within the noise. The piercing scream gained a sharp ethereal edge as the back of her robes burst open, two massive scaly wings unfurling as they grew. They stretched out as they reached their full, impressive wingspan, almost completely blocking Harry's view. He saw her silver hair, still visible as it swirled, still caught in the hot tempest surrounding her. He watched, awed as her hair began to morph, a slow wave of feathers travelling down her spine and between her wings, fusing the length of feathers that had been her hair to her body.

The orange glow, only visible around the silhouette of Fleur's wings suddenly shifted to a painfully bright blue, the tips of the now massive fireballs becoming visible over top of Fleur's imposing form. With surprising speed, Fleur's massive wings propelled her upwards, allowing an all-to-familiar vivid green spell to pass underneath her, impacting violently against the broken head of a gargoyle. He saw Fleur shift in the air, strafing Krum's lone figure below. He stared at her as she moved, the distance making it difficult to discern her new, odd features.

The two fireballs Fleur had been holding came screaming out of the sky at Krum, who deftly raised a shield between him and the deadly fire. The first fireball impacted his charm, consuming him within the rolling blue waves of flame. The second splashed across the ground near the silk barrier, blasting a hole through the silk large enough for Harry to squeeze through.

Harry gingerly stepped through the hole, shielding his face against the intense heat o f the burning grass around him. He ducked behind a large nearby stone, barely peeking over top to see. The inferno surrounding Krum began to fade, revealing his crouched form, wand held steady maintaining his impressive shield. Krum stood up from his crouch, his wand tracking Fleur as she weaved through the sky. Harry followed Krum's gaze towards Fleur, and nearly jumped out of his skin to find Fleur's glowing blue gaze locked on his own. Her head cocked slightly to the side, directing his focus back to Krum as two new balls of blue flame manifested above her outstretched talons. She let out a ferocious screen, drawing Krum's attention and his shield towards her, exposing his unprotected back to Harry.

' _Stupefy,'_ Harry said, Fleur's voice drowning out his incantation. The bright red beam soared through the air, Fleur's fire raining down simultaneously. The stunner struck true, impacting squarely against Krum's back. His unconscious body fell to the ground, his shield vanishing in front of the fire streaking towards him.

Before Harry could do anything to protect Krum from the blue inferno, the fireballs blinked out of existence, taking the fire that had begun spreading across the grass along with it. Harry slowly stood, his eyes focused skywards, staring transfixed at Fleur as she slowly floated lower, each beat of her wings buffeting Harry's robes and hair. He took in her startling form as she glided into clearer view, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Her face was covered in a fine layer of feathers the same silvery-blonde as her hair. Her nose and mouth had fused into a ferocious looking beak. Her familiar bright blue eyes glowed, illuminated further by the shadows of the maze. He took a step back as fury stared back at him, her body tense as she landed in front of him. His breath caught in his throat as he stared in awe of his friend.

As though cut by a string, the tension left her body, and she straightened, holding out one taloned hand.

"My wand?" she asked, her unintelligible screeching voice somehow still managing to convey the words to his mind.

Harry dutifully summoned her wand from where it'd fallen against one of the walls of the unusually large space.

"Thank you," she said, gingerly accepting the wand with one of her clawed hands. Harry almost rubbed his ears, sure that he'd heard both the piercing avian call, and the words 'thank you' somehow within the noise.

"Do you…" he tried, before wetting his surprisingly dry mouth. "Do you need to change back?"

"I will be exhausted when I do," she answered, the plumage across her head rippling as she spoke, the wave disappearing beneath her clothes as it continued down. "I would prefer to be exhausted and useless later, rather than now, and I don't have much time left. We must hurry. I am powerful enough to handle anything we come across on our way to the cup."

Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise at the boast, before the memory of the violent blue flames reminded him of the truth of her words.

"I saw," he said, looking around at the scorched earth around them.

Fleur simply nodded her feathered head, making a shooing motion with one taloned hand. "Stand back. I will look for a path to the end."

Barely waiting for him to move, Fleur gave one powerful sweep of her wings, and flew skyward. Harry watched her go, noticing her feet, transformed into giant talons sticking out through her shredded boots. As she rose further, he looked around, spotting Krum laying face down near a section of smouldering grass.

Harry moved over to where Krum lay, examining the destroyed area around them before regarding the unconscious form below him. He didn't know why the Bulgarian had seemed so intent on targeting Fleur during the tournament. There was nothing necessarily wrong about hampering your competition, but that spell he'd seen fly beneath Fleur…

He _knew_ that spell.

He felt his blood begin to boil as he stared at Krum's defenseless form. He'd tried to kill Fleur...again.

As if on cue, she let out a long angry shriek, drawing Harry's attention skyward. He saw sparks arcing from the air above a hedge, their blue lines rippling across Fleur's body. She reached out a hand, snatching it back as the electricity leapt towards her again. She turned and descended, landing gracefully next to him, her eyes also fixed on Krum's unconscious body. She let out an odd angry trill from her throat as she stared at Krum, her already fierce countenance darkening further. Harry jumped as Fleur suddenly turned her intense gaze to him, and pointed down at Krum.

"Cast the red sparks. We'll need to walk. Let's go." she commanded, her voice sharp and clipped.

Harry lifted his wand and fired the jet of red sparks into the air. He looked back down at Krum, another of Moody's admonitions floating through his mind.

"You've got to make sure they're down for good, Potter!" Moody had said in one of their last tutoring sessions. "If they're not dead, make sure they won't be coming for you any time soon."

Another red flash lit the area as Harry cast another stunner, followed by the total body bind curse. Fleur looked over at him, her expression unreadable beneath her rigid beak and feathers.

"He tried to kill you...again," Harry explained, hoping her gaze had been a questioning one. "We needed to know he couldn't follow us."

The light behind her eyes appeared to intensify as her eyes seemed to smile beneath her silvery feathers in response.

"Good thinking," she said, stepping towards one of the paths out of the clearing. She reached out one taloned hand, gripping Harry by the wrist and pulling him alongside her. "Let's go."

Harry almost had to jog to keep up with Fleur's long purposeful strides. They bumped shoulder to shoulder as they exited the clearing, reentering the narrow maze hedges.

"Did you see anything that we might run into on our way?" he asked as he matched her quick pace.

"Nothing that I can't handle," answered Fleur, her gaze locked solidly ahead as she turned a corner.

"Like what?"

"Skrewts, gargoyles, and a sphinx," Fleur replied quickly, her feathers again rippling downward as she spoke. "We must hurry. We turn here."

Harry turned the corner, his eyes barely registering the wrong end of a blast-ended skrewt. He turned, quickly reversing Fleur's grip on his hand, and pulling her along with him, the warm scales of her talon digging into his palm. He pulled her back around the corner just as a massive blast of fire passed behind him. He winced as the fire grazed his left arm, the only part of his body not shielded by the magical hedge. He frantically pulled off his robe, desperate to get the burning sleeve away from his arm. He held his arm up to inspect the damage, noting the angry red burn running across the back. He let it drop with a sigh. At least it wasn't dragon's fire.

He looked up at Fleur to find her her head tilted to the side, perplexed.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, looking down at him over her hooked beak. He heard no anger in her sharp strange voice, just genuine confusion. "I am fire resistant in this form. It would not have hurt."

"Well I'm not," Harry grumbled, lifting his arm. He was surprised to see her wide glowing eyes staring intently at his arm as it fell back to his side.

"You're burned," she said, raising a sharp taloned hand towards him before letting it drop back to her side. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped forwards and around Harry, a ball of flame igniting in her hand as she passed.

"Get behind me," she commanded, spreading her wings protectively behind her, surrounding Harry with them. "I will protect you."

She stepped forward, the tips of her wings gently prodding him forward, keeping him encircled in his silvery cocoon. The blue illumination of her fire shone around the tops of her wings as they turned the corner, the death screams of the skrewt echoing in the night.

"I can help you," he called out from behind her.

" _Non_ ," Fleur replied instantly. "You were hurt. Burned. I will not let that happen again. I will not see that again. I will protect you."

Her tone allowed little argument, forcing him to follow her lead, unable to see the path ahead. She stopped abruptly after a turn, another angry trill issuing from her throat. He felt a blaze of heat roll across him, causing a flare of pain in his arm. She raised on of her fireballs above her head with a screech, and threw it down the path ahead. An oddly familiar chittering noise was suddenly cut off, as the blue light from the fire dimmed and went out.

"I don't want you hurt either," he tried again as he stepped gingerly around the charred remains of an acromantula.

"I will not be hurt," Fleur said, leading them down a narrow path, her wings pressing against him as they brushed the sides of the small space. She stumbled as they turned another corner, letting out another angry noise as she righted herself. "We must hurry, I'm nearly-."

He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped short as he abruptly ran into her. His face impacted with her back, a mix of silver hair and feathers brushing against his face. He froze, slowly stepping back. He gaped, looking from side to side as her wings began to shrink.

He heard her curse as she sank to her knees, panting as her wings and feathers began to vanish into her skin. He stared, wide-eyed as they grew smaller, her back visible beneath her tattered clothes. The feathers on her back grew smaller as well, gradually becoming smooth skin once again as her wings finally disappeared. Harry laid a tentative hand on her shoulder as her breathing began to slow. She jumped at the contact, turning to offer him a wan smile.

"Let's go," she said, her voice quiet, but determined.

Harry smiled as she spoke, her clear tired voice a comforting respite from the sharp avian shrieks from before. She rose shakily, kicking off her ruined boots as she stood.

"The sphinx is around the corner," she said, pointing a shaking hand at the nearest turn. "The Goblet of Fire is just beyond."

Harry nodded, leading the way, one of Fleur's shockingly cold hands on his shoulder. He was surprised to find the contact comforting, despite her chilly grip. He took a deep breath to calm himself as they approached the corner. He felt a squeeze of reassurance from Fleur as he took another step forward, turning the corner.

The sphinx lay languidly across the path, her eyes trained on the newcomers. The majestic beast seemed to size them up before rising into a sitting position.

"Hello young one," she said, her deep voice heavily accented. She turned her dark eyes over to Fleur, who straightened under the scrutiny. "Hello little fey."

Harry saw Fleur stiffen at the sphinxes words, but quickly master herself.

"Hello," she greeted, taking a shaky step forward. "May we pass?"

"You must answer my riddles. One for each of you. Answer correctly and you may pass. Answer incorrectly and I will attack. You may leave before answering if you desire, and find one of the other paths to your goal."

Fleur glanced over at Harry, who nodded. He certainly preferred his chances against a riddle to the things hiding in the maze when they didn't have Fleur's impressive fire cutting a path for them.

"We accept." Fleur announced, projecting as much strength into her voice as she could.

"Very good," the sphinx replied, a smile growing on its face. "First, to you," it said, regarding Fleur.

 _Some think their time is done and gone,_

 _A Vila's villa foreclosed upon._

 _A gift to hang, tied roundabout_

 _Can curry favor for any lout._

 _The colors vary, some hues may shine_

 _As lavender sings, "Please be mine."_

 _History forgotten, as they were too_

 _Remember your past, a present for you_

Harry watched the gears turn in Fleur's mind as she muttered to herself in French. After a few moments, she stopped, narrowing her eyes at the sphinx.

"A ribbon," she said confidently, a hint of defiance in her tired voice and posture.

The sphinx nodded graciously, accepting her answer. "Knowing where you came from will help you understand how to get to where you wish to go."

Fleur pursed her lips before saying a quiet, "Thank you."

"And you," the sphinx continued, turning it's intense gaze to Harry. "Are you ready?"

Harry simply nodded, swallowing nervously.

 _First think of the person who lives in disguise,_

 _Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies._

 _Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,_

 _The middle of middle and end of the end?_

 _And finally give me the sound often heard,_

 _During the search for a hard-to-find word._

 _Now string them together and answer me this,_

 _Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?_

"A spider," Harry answered after a few minutes thought, and far more confidently than he felt.

"Very good," the sphinx replied. "Despite it's small and seemingly insignificant stature, a spider's poison can swiftly bring about your end, as can many poisonous things you may think innocuous." The sphinx bowed its head as it moved, opening the path to them. "You may both pass."

Fleur and Harry passed slowly, Fleur leaning heavily on Harry as they walked. They rounded the last corner, stopping short as they took in the oddly plain area ahead of them, the ground lined with paths of stone, rather than the grass of the maze.. After three harrowing tasks, the end of the whole ridiculous tournament sat atop a simple stone plinth, only a few steps ahead of them.

Fleur turned, a small excited smile growing on her face. "Together?"

Harry smiled back, feeling the weight of the tournament finally lifting from his shoulders. "You take it," he said, looking back at the accursed goblet. "You're the one who got us through this maze, and-"

"And you saved my life," she cut in, "together or not at all."

Harry readjusted her arm over his shoulder, sighing in defeat. "Together then."

They walked towards the goblet, the muted fire held within appearing dull after Fleur's vibrant display. Fleur's bare feet padded up the stone alongside his as they drew up to the goblet.

"On three?" Fleur asked, excitement shining through her exhaustion.

Harry nodded, hovering a hand next to his side of the cup, mimicking Fleur.

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

Harry and Fleur both reached out, grabbing the silver goblet be either side, it's fire flaring up as they made contact. The moment their hands touched the warm metal, Harry felt a distinctive tug behind his navel as he and Fleur where whisked away from the scene of their triumph.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Dumbledore!" Moody shouted, barreling his way through the ministry officials surrounding the judges stand, a large black dog following soberly on his heels. "Outta the way Drawlins," he growled, shouldering a short man off the small raised platform.

Dumbledore locked eyes with the grizzled auror as he approached, his features grim.

"He's gone, Dumbledore," Moody said as he approached the platform, drawing confused looks from Madam Maxime and Barty Crouch, both sitting on either side of the Hogwarts Headmaster. Moody looked down the table, scowling. "Where's Karkaroff?"

"He went to check on Mr. Krum," Crouch replied irritably. "He's in the medical tent."

"Crouch you daft bastard, how you managed to catch even a single Death Eater is beyond me. I'd bet my other leg he's gone," Moody rounded on Dumbledore. "You've been outmaneuvered."

The dog sitting at Moody's heels gave a low growl of agreement.

"There will be time for blame later," Dumbledore cut in, rising from his seat and summoning a small rock from the ground.

' _Portus,'_ Dumbledore said, the rock in his hand glowing blue in response. He placed the rock in Moody's hand as he spoke. "This will take you to Hogsmeade, and outside of the anti-apparition wards. Follow the tracker on Harry via apparition. If you think you can retrieve him easily, do so. The activation command is "travel." If you run into resistance, _come get me_. We will use Fawkes to return to rescue him."

Moody nodded curtly before speaking. "Travel," he said, disappearing on the spot.

"Dumbledore," Madam Maxime said, rising from her own large seat. "What is going on?"

"I suggest you go attempt to locate Miss Delacour. I believe we have been caught in the middle of a sinister plan."

"Sinister?" the Beauxbatons Headmistress asked, looking out to the imposing maze. "What do you mean?"

Her question fell on deaf ears, Dumbledore already walking swiftly towards the castle, the large dog on his heels.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry collapsed on the ground next to Fleur as the goblet deposited them roughly at their destination. It rolled down the small hill they'd been dropped upon, clanging against small gravestones as it rolled out of sight, the fire extinguished. He quickly stood up, looking around, his heart hammering in his chest. They'd landed in a small clearing surrounded by gravestones of varying sizes. The moon illuminated the grassy area nearby, casting shadows off the angelic statues nearby. Was this more of the task? Had they lied about the goblet being the end? Why a graveyard?

"There is more?" Fleur asked, echoing Harry's thoughts. Anxiety seeped through her tired voice as she spoke. Clearly she didn't believe it any more than Harry did.

"Something's wrong," Harry began, a familiar spike of adrenaline coursing through him as his scar began to throb painfully. He pushed the feeling away, squinting through watering eyes at the disorganized graves nearby.

"So it would seem," an accented, familiar voice called from behind a nearby gravestone. A tall figure in dark robes stepped out, wand held aloft, pointed directly at Harry. The figure seemed to hesitate as it took in Fleur, who was slowly getting to her feet. "There's another with him."

" _Kill them,"_ a bone-chilling rasp answered curtley from the darkness.

Harry quickly stepped in front Fleur, wand at the ready. He ignored the shaking hand on his shoulder, telling him to move aside.

"She is weak," the figure said, his voice changing in a way that chilled Harry to his core. "We could capture her instead."

Fleur's grip on his shoulder tightened painfully, though Harry barely noticed. The cold, snakelike voice...he'd heard it before…

' _Expelliarmus!'_ Harry shouted, the spell streaking from his wand and towards the lone figure. He grabbed Fleur's hand off his shoulder, and turned to sprint towards where the cup had rolled away.

" _You fool!"_ the voice hissed.

No sooner had Harry taken a step, than he felt his body lock up, and begin to fall. His hand, still gripping Fleur's, pulled her down next to him, too exhausted to fight back. Conjured ropes wrapped themselves around Harry as he lie facedown in the dirt, Fleur's shouts of protest telling him she'd been caught as well.

" _Silencio_ ," a new voice said from directly above them, instantly quelling Fleur's protests. "Well well, Igor. You almost ruined all your hard work with your banal desires."

" _Enough_ ," the hissing voice commanded. " _We do not know how much time we have. We will only have this one chance, and if we fail, it will be one of your bodies I take."_

"Yes, my Lord" the voice above Harry answered reverently, turning Harry's blood to ice. He'd heard both the voices before...discussing Bertha Jorkins and murdering old men in his dreams.

' _Levicorpus'_ the voices said together, levitating both Harry and Fleur into the air. Harry slowly spun to face the owner of the second voice, and found himself staring into fanatic eyes of the same sandy-blond man from his dreams. In his arms, cradled like a baby, was a form that almost made Harry's heart stop in his chest.

" _Hello again, Harry,"_ Voldemort said as Harry floated up to a gravestone, the enchanted ropes reaching out, snaking their way around the gravestone, securing him.

In front of the grave sat a large cauldron an eerie mist slowly issuing forth, spilling over the edge onto the ground beneath. Harry turned his head as he felt Fleur impact the stone next to him, her ropes merging with his, tying her fast. She struggled frantically against the ropes, twisting and pushing, her face contorted into a mask of fear and fury. He could tell she was shouting at their captors, but not even a breath sounded from her as she was forced to rage silently.

" _Get on with it,"_ Voldemort commanded impatiently.

"Yes, my Lord," the sandy-haired one said, stepping up to the large cauldron, and gently placing Voldemort's strange body inside the cauldron.

"Bones of the father, unknowingly given," he began with a flick of his wand. Fleur stilled, her eyes wide as the ground below her split, a trail of fine white powder floating out and to the cauldron.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken," he continued, stepping towards Harry and Fleur, producing a large ornate blade from within his robes. Fleur began to struggle again as he approached Harry, a fanatic grin on his face. Harry stared at the man, trying to force his fear back. He'd handled Voldemort before, usually by luck, but he'd done it. Maybe he'd get lucky this time too.

With a quick motion, the blade sliced through Harry's cheek, blood pouring out as he stared defiantly into the man's eyes, forcing the pain away.

"So brave," the man mocked, moving back to the cauldron, allowing the blood to drip from the tip of the blade into the roiling mists.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given," he intoned, deftly swinging the blade through his wrist, slicing off his hand. He stared coldly, unblinking back at Harry. He stepped back, cradling his stump as he bowed to the cauldron. Harry stared at the mists as the grew thicker, the pale moonlight shining against the white fog. Slowly, a form rose from inside, no longer the horrid child-like creature, but a full grown man. Harry felt his blood turn to ice as the familiar voice spoke, one he'd hoped would only stay in his nightmares.

"My robes, Wormtail."

A noise of frightened surprise ignited Harry's blood in fury. The man who'd kept him from Sirius. The man who'd been responsible for his parents death-the cause of his life with the Dursleys. Harry glared at the squat form of Pettigrew as he held open robes for Voldemort to slide into, trying to somehow will himself free. Voldemort turned to the one he'd called Bartemius, and produced his wand from within his robes.

"Your reward."

A fine line of silver issued forth from the tip of Voldemort's wand, coalescing into a silver hand that glinted brightly in the moonlight.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Voldemort turned to Harry, a smirk clear on his pale, snakelike face.

"We meet again, Harry." Voldemort said, walking slowly up to them. He stopped just inches from Harry, and raised a pale hand up to Harry's scar. "No protections this time,"he snarled, pressing his thumb into the scar.

Harry swallowed the moans of pain that threatened to issue from him. His scar burned like a brand, forcing tears of pain to his eyes. With a laugh, Voldemort removed his hand from Harry, turning his attention to Fleur. His red eyes narrowing as she stared defiantly back at the Dark Lord, though Harry could feel her tremble next to him.. He appeared to reach a decision, and offered a sinister smile.

"My two faithful servants deserve a reward," he said waiving a dismissive hand as he turned back to where Wormtail stood, cowering. "Your arm."

Voldemort pressed his wand into the mark on Wormtail's exposed forearm, grinning as he did so.

"We shall see which others of my supporters are faithful, and which have lost their way." He stared at the night sky, waiting patiently for the return of his Death Eaters.

"They come," he whispered, returning his eyes to the area in front of him.

One by one dark forms appeared around the clearing, all dressed the same as the ones he'd seen at the world cup. Harry stared uselessly at the masks, hoping to discern which had been the one to use his wand to murder those people.

"My...loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort said, his tone congenial, though his eyes glared out at the assembled group. "You come when called, even after all these years."

A murmur of agreement followed his statement, to be cut off by a vicious snarl from Voldemort as he sliced his wand through the air releasing a volley of angry red curses flying inches above the Death Eater's heads.

"Only four are truly loyal!" he shouted, the group shrinking in on themselves in the face of his fury. "The Lestranges, in Azkaban, and my two assistants tonight. Young Mr. Crouch, and Headmaster Karkaroff."

Crouch and Karkaroff seemed to straighten at the praise from their master, Crouch flexing his silver hand as he did so. Harry's attention was drawn by the nervous form of Pettigrew, who seemed to want to speak, but was quelled by a venomous glare from Karkaroff.

"These two have done what none of you tried to do! You all live free and prosperous, easily allowed to renounce your years of service to me in exchange for a comfortable life."

Voldemort stepped suddenly forward, bringing himself face to face with a silver mask.

"Isn't that right, Lucius?" he hissed, slowly raising the silver mask with the tip of his wand, exposing the sweaty, nervous face of Lucius Malfoy.

"M-my Lord," he stammered, his eyes wide and panicked. "I used the item you entrusted to me. I attempted to use it to return you to life, as you instructed."

Voldemort sneered, turning away from the trembling man.

"Eleven years after my disappearance, and even then, only after I had been forced to manage an attempt at rebirth on my own."

Voldemort stopped his movements, appraising his assembled Death Eaters.

"We will have _plenty_ of time to...discuss...any lapses in loyalty at a later date. For tonight-" he said, turning suddenly and thrusting his wand out towards Harry and Fleur, "-tonight I will prove that no wizard can escape my retribution."

With a lazy flick of his wand,Voldemort severed Harry's bonds, dropping him to his hands and knees on the rough ground.

"On your feet," Voldemort commanded, gesturing for him to stand. "We will duel, and they will see which of us is the better wizard."

The assembled Death Eaters laughed on cue, jeering and pointing as Harry looked up at Voldemort.

He shook his head slowly. "I won't."

Harry felt a strange calm as he spoke. He was dead either way, might as well resist Voldemort's sinister will for as long as he could. He wouldn't be able to choose whether he lived or died, but he could still choose to rebel.

"We will see," Voldemort said, a humorless smile crossing his face. ' _Crucio'_

Harry's world erupted in unimaginable pain.

It felt like every beating, every burn, and every cut he'd ever taken was happening across his body all at once, but somehow was more painful than the sum of its parts. His mind scrambled to try and put the pain away, like he always did, but every moment was somehow new, somehow more intense, and all he could do was scream.

What felt like a lifetime later, the spell ended, leaving him convulsing on the dirt at the base of the gravestone.

"Shall we duel?" Voldemort asked calmly, his voice cutting through the haze of Harry's mind like a knife.

Harry tried to speak, only able to offer a rasp in answer. He got one arm under him, his raw nerves screaming in protest as he moved, and pushed himself back up onto his knees, glared at the 'Dark Lord', and shook his head.

Voldemort's smile grew wider, eagerness painted across his features.

"I was hoping you would resist," he said, stepping forward so he was looming over Harry and Fleur. She pushed feebly against her bonds, tears coursing silently down her cheeks.

"I can torture you until your mind breaks," Voldemort said conversationally, looking down at Harry's defiant gaze, "and I doubt you'll give me what I want. But…" he trailed off, slowly, deliberately, shifting his gaze to Fleur, who stilled.

"Let's switch tactics, shall we?"

With a deft swipe of his wand, Voldemort severed the ropes binding Fleur, allowing her to fall roughly to the ground beside Harry. He had barely a moment to look into her frightened blue eyes before Voldemort spoke.

' _Crucio'_

Fleur spasmed, her mouth open in a soundless scream as she began to writhe on the ground. Her face contorted with the agony still faintly pulsing through Harry's body with each heartbeat. He reached towards her, opening his mouth to agree to the duel, when Voldemort waved his free hand lazily over Harry. He felt his body freeze, the body-bind curse again locking him in place, his head frozen facing Fleur.

"That won't do," Voldemort chastised, twisting his wand viciously in the air, causing Fleur to arch her back in pain. Harry watched helplessly as Voldemort returned is focus to Fleur, the malicious smile once again in place. "Much too quiet," he mused, waving his hand over Fleur as she convulsed, dispelling the silencing charm.

Her sudden screams nearly deafened Harry as he watched, trapped kneeling beside her, unable to help or comfort. He raged in the prison of his body as she suffered, condemning himself for not seeing what would happen at his defiance. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks as he watched Voldemort cut off the spell with a snarl, finally allowing Fleur to fall back to the ground, trembling.

"So you see," Voldemort said, turning back to Harry. "When you resist me, people suffer." Harry felt the body-bind lift as Voldemort turned, walking back to his original position. Harry struggled to his feet, doing his best to ignore the fire still coursing through his bones. As he straightened he looked up at Voldemort's smiling face, and saw the malicious glee vanish as a loud gong sounded through the graveyard.

"My Lord," one of the Death Eaters said, stepping forward. "The Anti-Apparition wards..."

" _I know,"_ Voldemort hissed, causing the Death Eater to scurry away. "We have run out of time it seems. Grab your wand Harry."

Harry bent down, picking his wand up out of the grass where it had fallen while he'd writhed in pain. If someone was coming for them, he only had to survive for only a few minutes. Only a few minutes against a resurrected Lord Voldemort. He knew this time was different. He could feel it. He felt the hope inside him gutter, only leaving the remnant aches and pains.

"Begin," Voldemort shouted, thrusting his wand forward. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry dove to the side, the green light speeding past his shoulder as he fell. It impacted against the gravestone behind him, showering the area with rubble as it was blown apart by the force of the spell.

"Stand up and face me!" Voldemort roared. Harry felt himself lifted roughly from the ground, to be deposited back on his feet in front of his enemy. "Avada K-"

A blinding flash of light interrupted the spell, followed by a warmly familiar crooning that helped drive a little of the pain from deep inside his bones. Harry looked up, as the bright dots in his vision cleared, to see absolute mayhem unfolding in front of him. Through the comforting phoenix song he could hear frightened shouts of Death Eaters.

"It'd Mad-Eye!" He heard them calling through the shouts of spells.

A strange rugged laugh filtered through the noise, Moody's ordinary cackle replaced by menacing joy as he deftly felled a handful of Voldemort's followers with a devastating barrage of spells. He sidestepped curse after curse, laughing as most of the Death Eaters scattered, a handful rallying to face the old Auror. As more Death Eaters fell to Moody's onslaught, a black dog snaked around their legs, his nose combing the ground as it searched, a feral look in it's dark eyes.

In the center of the chaos, Voldemort stood stiffly, his wand still raised, pointing at the calm visage standing across from him.

"Tom," Dumbledore said, his words barely audible over the din.

"Dumbledore," Voldemort answered, slowly lowering his hand to his side.

In an instant, as though an invisible hourglass had just dropped it's last grain, the two master wizards cast their first spells, the bursts of light impacting each other in the air between them. Small bursts of thunder began to rattle the gravestones around the small battle as Dumbledore and Voldemort cast and countered, deflecting and transfiguring the area around them in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

The graveyard erupted in pandemonium, curses and spells flying through the air, shattering the statues and gravestones they impacted. The night was bright with the colored flashes as Moody taunted his attackers, a shining shield standing fast between him and his attackers. Streaks of lightning dug into the ground around Voldemort and Dumbledore as more spells collided between them. Voldemort stepped to the side to avoid a bolt of electricity, quickly turning back to Dumbledore, wand raised with a sneer on his face.

Even to Harry's untrained eye, he could see Dumbledore suddenly begin to push harder, gaining the advantage over the newly resurrected Voldemort. A vibrant orange spell grazed the side of Voldemort's head, leaving a bright, blistering burn in its wake, the red welts shining visibly against his pale skin. With a cry of fury, Voldemort thrust his wand skyward, the deafening sound of breaking glass accompanying the falling wards. He twisted on the spot, casting a flurry of curses as he vanished, the potent spells impacting both Dumbledore's shields, and the unprepared Death Eaters. The remaining Death Eaters followed their Lord, the sound of numerous simultaneous cracks echoing across the graveyard as they fled.

"Sirius!" Dumbledore called as he turned to where Harry and Fleur lay, covered in dust and rubble from the errant spells. "Are you okay?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Harry and Fleur, a frown lining his face. Harry nodded, trying to suppress the tremors coursing through his body as the remnants of the Cruciatus still burned within him, the adrenaline of facing Voldemort slowly leaving him to his pain. Before either had a chance to reply, Sirius came staggering up, a limp brown animal clutched in one boney hand.

"I got him," he growled, baring his teeth at the rat. "I got the bastard. After all these years..."

Harry tried to look up, to see his Godfather's victory, but he collapsed instead, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion and pain. Fleur groaned weakly from behind him, the sound of it turning his insides, pushing a last burst of energy into him.

"She transformed," he croaked, his voice rough and wet from screaming. "She was exhausted even before he…" he trailed off with a shudder, trying in vain to push away the memory of her screams.

"You will both be treated upon your return," Dumbledore replied. "Sirius, you and I will stay and secure the Death Eaters still living...and locate Alastor."

Sirius grimaced, looking out at the numerous fallen Death Eaters. A small, humorless smile flitted across his face as he spoke. "Well, he'd have been hacked off if he'd gone out any other way."

Harry felt his heart sink. Moody had been killed coming to save him. He'd been killed following the tracker he'd agreed to have put on him. Fleur stirred behind him, slowly raising herself into a sitting position, drawing her knees up to her chest. Her long hair lay in the dirt, small bits of rubble tangled in the mess. Harry's spiral downward slowed as he stared at Fleur's dirty, tear streaked face. If it hadn't been for the rescue, he'd have been killed, and she'd likely have endured much worse.

He forced his body to move, ignoring the protesting of his joints and muscles, pushing himself up from the ground. If he couldn't get up after this, how could he expect to stand between danger and those he cared for? He was too young to save his parents, and too weak to help Moody. He still had to get better.

Sirius' eyes widened as Harry struggled defiantly to his feet. He quickly stepped over, supporting Harry with his free arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder. Harry looked up at his godfather surprised by the tender concern transforming his rugged features. Another painful shudder wracked his body, sending jolts of pain through his bones as it traveled.

"It'll be okay, Harry," Sirius said, squeezing his godson in reassurance, misunderstanding Harry's shudder. Harry had to suppress a groan of pain. "He's gone."

"The Cruciatus," Fleur explained from her spot on the ground, her own voice hoarse.

"The Cruciatus?" Sirius echoed, his rough grip on Harry's shoulder loosening to a more comfortable pressure. He tried to smile reassuringly as Harry nodded. "It's a cruel thing. You need to rest."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, gesturing to the ground next to Fleur. "Please, sit. I will have Fawkes take you and Miss Delacour back to Hogwarts where you can be treated for your injuries and allowed to rest. Sirius, you and I will gather Alastor and the Death Eaters, and use his portkey to return to Hogsmeade. We will want to identify those who were still loyal to Voldemort. I will take Pettigrew and turn him over to the authorities. We'll have you cleared as soon as possible."

Harry felt Sirius' body sag against his at Dumbledore's words. He looked up at his godfather's gaunt face, a small blossom of hope glowing in his dark eyes.

"Harry, please," Dumbledore said, gently helping Sirius lower him to the ground next to Fleur.

As soon as he was sitting, she slowly began to lean over until her shoulder was touching his. She gently laid her head on his shoulder, tremors still occasionally coursing their way through her body. Harry sat rigidly, afraid to disturb her. He could feel her surprisingly cool cheek against his shoulder, a balm against the remaining embers of the Cruciatus still burning inside him. He felt his body finally begin to relax, and had to fight the urge to lay his head atop hers and close his eyes as the adrenaline slowly began to fade.

"When you return to Hogwarts, please tell Minerva to meet us in Hogsmeade," continued Dumbledore. "I will need her assistance. I will come to speak with you as soon as I am able."

Harry nodded as Dumbledore called out to Fawkes, who landed softly on his free shoulder. At a nod from Dumbledore, the graveyard vanished in a flash of warm yellow and orange light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **AN: Well. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I know the notes are usually at the beginning, but I felt like sticking it at the end this time.**

 **I did want to shout out the three people that helped me with this chapter. If you enjoyed it, thought it was intense, or anything like that, you have them to thank. They helped me polish this from my rough idea to what it ended up as. So big thanks to Sol, Apple, and Pint. This chapter is also dedicated to Cassandra. I gotchoo girl.**

 **As always, please review. I've developed a compulsion for checking my email for reviews, as well as checking the traffic. (not too far from 78k. Woo!)**

 **Also as I mentioned last chapter, things are gonna start happening. There's a decent chance you'll find a trigger warning at the beginning of the next chapter, so buckle up. I know it's been a very slow build so far, so I appreciate those still on board for the ride. I haven't had this much fun writing something in a long time**


	13. Chapter 13

**Trigger warning y'all.**

Fawkes' warmth left Harry in a rush as the phoenix deposited him and Fleur on the floor in front of Professor McGonagall, before vanishing in another burst of flame.

"Mr. Potter!" She stepped forward, crossing the short distance of the headmaster's office in a few quick strides. Harry winced as she helped him to his feet, pain still throbbing inside him. No matter how much he tried, he could not ignore even the remnant pain of the Cruciatus.

"Professor Dumbledore needs you to meet him in Hogsmeade," Harry rasped, his voice rough from screaming. "He's back, Professor."

"The headmaster, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head, immediately wishing he hadn't done so. The motion ignited another headache in his head, and a dull throbbing in his scar.

"Voldemort, Professor."

Professor McGonagall stopped moving, the color draining from her face.

"You had better get yourself to the hospital wing, Mr. Potter, Miss Delacour," she said quietly. "I will let Poppy know that you aren't to be disturbed."

Harry nodded, turning to follow Professor McGonagall's quick departure from the office. He saw Fleur slowly rising to her feet, wincing slightly as she did so.

"Please," Fleur said, a supportive hand held out for him. "I do not know the way."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry and Fleur walked slowly through the deserted halls of Hogwarts, occasionally leaning on one another for support. Fleur seemed barely able to keep her eyes open as they walked, her pace slow and lethargic.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked into the silence as another step sent a wave of phantom agony through his leg.

"Tired mostly," she answered, her voice a quiet mumble. "The pain from the cruciatus has faded." She turned to him, her tired eyes focusing on his own. "What about you?"

"We're here," Harry said instead, glad for the timely distraction. He wasn't keen on admitting it still felt as though he'd been beneath Voldemort's wand only seconds before.

A whirlwind of gentle fussing met them on the other side of the familiar doors of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had them lying in beds in an instant, while she ran her wand over them in well-practiced patterns. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he felt the fatigue settle deep into his bones, blissfully trying to pull him away from the lingering pain.

"Minerva said you were coming," she said as she frowned at Fleur, "but she didn't say why. I expect something to do with that tournament, though I don't know why I was asked to return here. The tent would have done just fine."

"It was the Cruciatus," Fleur said, her voice quiet and slurred. Harry could see her fighting to stay conscious, to pass on the information.

"It was what?!" Madam Pomfrey nearly shouted, whirling to face Harry, a look of shock and concern plastered on her face. Harry looked over at Fleur, just in time to see her eyes shut, and her breathing slow. "How did you-"

"It was Voldemort."

The matron winced at the name, and fixed him with a glare reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

"I don't think you are a liar, Mr. Potter," she said, running her wand over Harry, her frown growing as she worked. "It _is_ the Cruciatus," she whispered, her eyes wide, "and a powerful one. You were..." Her hands flew to her mouth as the color drained from her face. She stood in shock for only a moment before began bustling quickly, summoning a bottle to her hand. "I can only help you sleep, Mr. Potter. Nothing can be done to counteract the lingering tremors and pain except for time. I will wake you in the morning. I expect a number of people will want to talk to you about what you've said."

Harry nodded, gratefully accepting the bottle. He'd taken that dreamless sleep potion often enough in her care to recognize the bottle, and quickly downed a mouthful. He welcomed the familiar weightless feeling that followed, eagerly giving in to the magical sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Well," Sirius said, examining the nearly dozen death eaters sprawled out on the ground, "it seems like Voldemort got a few extra for us."

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, pulling the silver masks from the prone bodies. "The blood-boiling curse is a rather nasty way to go. I expect the ones dispatched by Alastor should be grateful, were they able-" His speech stopped in surprise as he lifted the last mask.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, stepping quickly over the assembled bodies. He whistled through his teeth as he saw the contorted face beneath the mask, it's golden hair stained with blood. "Can't say I'm sorry to see him gone. Always was a pretentious bastard, even back when he and Narcissa were dating."

"Yes," Dumbledore mused, his mind clearly elsewhere. "But we cannot forget that he was also a father. A number of students have lost family members tonight, and such a loss can be a pivotal point in a young person's life." He stood from Lucius' body, and looked around at the assembled fallen Death Eaters. "It is going to be chaotic at the Ministry tomorrow morning."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Professor McGonagall stood at the edge of Hogsmeade, squinting against the cool breeze of the summer evening. Every inch of her body was trying to push her to the hospital wing, to check on Harry, but Dumbledore seemed to require her assistance. As her gaze swept across the village again, she saw a sudden crowd of people pop into existence, and fall to the ground. Amidst the fallen, stood Dumbledore, and a large black dog, who promptly bounded away and out of sight.

"Albus, what-" she began, lifting her robes to jog over to the Headmaster. Her eyes grew wide as she surveyed the scene in front of her. Her heart plummeted as she took in the robes on their bodies. "Death Eaters…" she whispered, surveying the area. She frowned as her eyes came to rest on a body, different from the rest, one broken wooden leg sticking out from the bottom of dirty trousers.

"Alastor…" she said, before turning fierce eyes to the tired figure of Dumbledore. "What is happening, Albus?"

"He is back, Minerva. I duelled him myself."

"Are you injured?"

"He was still weakened from the resurrection," Dumbledore said with a tired smile, gingerly stepping over the bodies. "As I have been weakened by age. We were quite lucky we were able to extract Mr. Potter and Miss Delcour as effectively as we were able, despite Alastor's sacrifice."

"Why did you bring these...corpses back with you?"

"It will be difficult for the Wizangamot and our esteemed Minister to obscure the truth with so much evidence presented to them." Dumbledore looked sadly around at the bodies, before turning his gaze back to his deputy headmistress. "Despite their misguided ideals, these people still had families, and those family members deserve the chance to grieve their loved ones properly."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry blinked his eyes blearily, consciousness slowly replacing the fog of the induced sleep. He groped around blindly on the side table for his glasses, fumbling them onto his face as he sat up. The blurry figure on the end of his bed came quickly into focus to reveal a somber looking Dumbledore.

"Hello, Harry," he said kindly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better sir, thank you," Harry answered, noting with pleasure that it was true. Most of the aches and pains had subsided during his rest. He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the confusion of the dreamless sleep potion. No matter how often he'd had to take it, he'd never managed to kick the odd side effect after waking.

"I am exceedingly glad to hear it," Dumbledore said, sagging slightly in relief. "As I'm sure you're already growing tired of hearing, the Cruciatus is a very powerful curse, and can leave serious and lasting damage in it's victims. I apologize for repeating myself, but do you feel any lingering effects of the curse?"

Harry suddenly sat up as his mind slowly started coming awake, a memory from the graveyard burning suddenly bright in his mind.

"Fleur?" He asked, looking to the bed she'd been sleeping in last he saw her. She lay in the bed next to him, her eyes still closed in sleep, the blankets covering her rising and falling with each reassuring breath. He saw her long hair spread out over the top of the sheets, bits of rock and dirt still tangled in it's usually spotless length. Sweat beaded her brow, though her face showed no signs of restlessness.

"She's probably hot," Harry mumbled, his thoughts still disjointed and confused. He gestured vaguely in her direction before letting his arm fall back to the bed. "-said she's got a fire affinity."

"Quite right," Dumbledore said, rising and walking over to Fleur's bed. He pulled the covers down gently, eliciting a satisfied sigh from the sleeping girl.

Harry stared at the scene, taking in the oddly gentle grandfatherly way Dumbledore wiped the sweat from Fleur's brow with a cloth. It seemed an odd thing to see after seeing him duel…

"Voldemort," Harry said suddenly, the fog in his mind instantly dispelled by the memory.

Dumbledore returned to his seat at the end of Harry's bed, a somber look on his face.

"And Moody!" Harry continued, guilt beginning to press in on him.

"Correct on both counts, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I am sorry to say that Alastor lost his life last night."

"What about Sirius?"

"Peter Pettigrew has been turned over to the Ministry, and Miss Delacour's father is keeping an eye on the situation as a representative of the ICW. Justice will be appropriately served this time, you have my word."

"When will he be free?" Harry asked, fighting against the hope brimming inside him at the thought.

"It is hard to say. The Ministry is reluctant to admit to an error, though they will have no choice. Conservatively I would expect his hearing to be near the end of summer, though I will be pushing for a much quicker trial."

The world seemed to darken as Harry's hope sputtered out. He wouldn't be able to live with Sirius any time soon. He froze, a memory surfacing from what seemed like another lifetime. He'd ran from the Dursleys the previous summer. He'd remembered being so worried about it at the world cup, but that had been before the dark mark, the tournament, and Voldemort. But now, just a handful of days away from returning to his furious uncle, his fear began to burn anew.

"It couldn't happen any sooner?" he asked quietly, though he knew the futility of the question.

"I certainly understand your desire to spend more time with your godfather, but we are nearing the end of his ordeal. I expect he'll have some recovery to do in St. Mungos after he gets cleared as well. Being on the run isn't quite as difficult as staying alive in Azkaban, but it is far from an ideal way of life."

Harry nodded mutely. Another summer with the Dursleys. He tried to hold onto the hope that maybe next year Sirius could take him in. He'd only have to make it through one more summer with his cruel relatives, and he'd be free. The hope slipped through the fingers of his mind as he imagined his Uncle's rage at discovering he'd run away. He longed for the days when they'd been simply apathetic to his existence, only acknowledging him whenever necessary. He slumped, feeling the familiar tendrils of depression sinking into his bones, leaving him paradoxically numb after all the pain of the Cruciatus. Despite all the challenges of the year, it was still Hogwarts, and he'd be leaving all his friends soon, both new and old.

"I can see you are still rather exhausted," Dumbledore said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "I will be as brief as I can be. You may be called upon to share your side of events from last night at the ministry. Nobody will want to believe that Voldemort has returned, but I am hopeful there will be little opposition to the fact."

"Opposition?" Harry asked. "Why wouldn't they believe you."

"You have no way of knowing what his first reign of terror was like," Dumbledore said gently. "Though I know you do not appreciate your celebrity, there is a reason the entirety of the wizarding community knows your name. It was truly a horrible time. It is natural to dry and deny that which we find troubling or difficult, and though we wish to hold our leaders to a higher standard, they too are human.

"I would also like to continue the work you began under Alastor. I do not think Voldemort will be content to allow you to slip through his fingers yet again, and I would prefer you to have all the preparation we are able to give you before you meet again. As you saw tonight, a few extra seconds can make all the difference."

Harry nodded in reply, feeling any energy he'd recovered vanish. He sank back into the pillow, letting his eyes close. Voldemort was back, he was a target, and he'd be going back to the Dursleys soon. He wouldn't get to see his only friends until the next term…

He opened his eyes, looking back over to Fleur's slumbering form. Not his _only_ friends, not anymore. He let out a sigh. If she even wanted anything to do with him. He'd been the reason the cup had been turned into a portkey. If it hadn't, she'd never have been tortured.

He felt the tendrils of sleep reach out, his exhaustion pushing him to unconsciousness. He felt Dumbledore stand and leave as he drifted off. His last thought was the hope that enough of the dreamless sleep potion remained in his body to prevent any nightmares.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry was jerked awake by a light prod. His hands scrambled around for his wand, his heart hammering. Voldemort was torturing Fleur, he had to get his wand, to do _something_. Anything but continue to sit, paralyzed.

"Harry," Fleur said, placing a warm hand on his chin, and pushing his head up to look at her. "Look at me."

Harry blinked at the fuzzy outline of Fleur, unable to distinguish much more than the outline of her face, and the shine of the sun on her hair. Her voice helped cut through the remnant screams of his nightmare, the familiar touch of her accent accent on his name pulling him out.

"Fleur?" He asked, squinting at her.

"Your glasses," she said, dropping them into one of his hands.

"Thanks," he murmured, sitting up as he put on his glasses, his chin cold as the warmth of her hand dissipated.

"I woke up in much the same state," she said, dropping heavily onto the end of his bed. "That was…" she paused, and cast a fearful sideways glance at him. "That really happened, right? With Voldemort?"

Harry could only nod.

"It was not the first time you've dealt with him? Is it? Your story is well known even in France, but the hatred he clearly held for you..." she shuddered.

"No," Harry replied, sighing. "And the chamber wasn't even the first."

"Tell me some other time?" Fleur asked, a weak smile on her face. "There is plenty to deal with in the present. I'm not sure I can stomach any more stories if they are comparable to your second year."

Harry felt his low spirits bolster a little at her words. She still wanted to be around him, even after everything that had happened. He was surprised to find that he didn't mind the idea of sharing his 'adventures' with her anymore. She'd believed everything he'd said since the beginning, both with the tournament, and the chamber. He felt a slowly growing feeling of nervousness inside him, the feeling of trust making him feel unaccountably vulnerable. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat at the mix of emotions on Fleur's face.

"I-I want to talk to you about a few things," she said quickly, her accent thickening in her nervousness. "In the time we have gotten to know each other, I have seen that you don't often share your thoughts or feelings."

Harry tried to sit up, suddenly alert. He certainly couldn't deny what she was saying, but there was nothing wrong with being a private person.

"And that's okay!" she continued quickly, her hands bobbing in a placating gesture. "It's just...I guess this is me being selfish again. I need to talk to sort out my feelings, and I don't really have anyone I can talk to here. The headmistress is not terribly warm...or tactful, and I expect she would be busy after such a disastrous end to the tournament." She shrugged, nervously running a hand through her hair, securing it behind her ear. "Who would believe what we've gone through since entering that maze anyway?"

Harry couldn't stop the small smile he felt tugging at his lips.

"Welcome to the club," he said, revelling in the odd switch of roles. " _I_ believe you."

She smiled at him in reply, some of her nervousness leaving her body. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," he answered, shrugging. "The pain from the curse seems to be gone."

"For me as well," she replied, her shoulders sagging in relief. "Though I am still rather tired after...well...the…" Harry watched as she began to fidget, her hands beginning a now familiar cycle of nervously pulling and twisting her hair.

"After your transformation?" Harry guessed. The flush that bloomed across her face and neck confirmed his suspicion, and her gaze dropped to the floor. She only offered a nod in reply, her face hidden behind a curtain of her hair.

"It was...pretty cool," he hazarded. She'd been reluctant to talk about the transformation during Hermione's questioning, and though he'd been curious he'd avoided bringing up the obviously delicate subject.

"Pretty cool?" she echoed, turning slightly to look at him incredulously. "I turn into a monstrous creature, and you think it's 'pretty cool'?"

"Well," he said, shifting uncomfortably while he searched for the right words. "I didn't really think it was monstrous. I just thought it was pretty cool to be able to change like that. Besides, you still seemed like you, for the most part anyway."

She smiled shyly at him as he finished speaking.

"My parents asked me to extend the invitation to our home once again. Father was beside himself that he still hasn't gotten a proper conversation with you," she said instead, diverting her eyes to the ground.

Harry shook his head, wishing desperately he could avoid what the summer held for him.

"Well, they did say you were also welcome on Christmas, if you are available then. Until then, we could write to each other." She shrugged as she smiled sadly at him. "I will be leaving this afternoon. My parents are speaking with your Headmaster right now."

Harry felt his heart ache as he had to shake his head again.

"I can't," he said miserably. "My relatives…"

"Don't like magic," Fleur finished for him. "I remember."

Harry nodded mutely in reply.

"Well," she said, absently tapping a finger on her chin, "what about the muggle post? I am sure it will take a while for letters to get from Britain to France, especially compared to your lovely owl, but it is better than nothing, is it not?"

Harry stared at her, wide eyed as he quelled the impulse to deny the possibility.

"Yeah," he said finally, nodding slowly. "That should be fine."

Fleur's answering smile chased the fatigue from her face. "I've never had someone to write to that wasn't my family. Thank you for agreeing. I _do_ want to talk about everything that happened, it is just that some of it will be easier conveyed through message, rather than words."

The unspoken plea in her eyes made Harry smile as he nodded. Despite everything, she was still an open book.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The thought of visiting the Delacours come Christmas and the letters he could write to Fleur were a slight balm to his nerves as the train pulled into King's Cross. Between returning to the Dursleys, and a newly resurrected Voldemort, Harry had found little to look forward to in the coming months, and could feel the edges of depression beginning to weigh on his chest.

"Well," Hermione said as the three of them disembarked the train. Her voice was cheery, though the anxiety beneath was clear. It'd been a mostly silent ride aboard the Hogwarts Express, each one of them digesting the events in their own way. "I suppose I'll see you both next term. I'll owl you after I tell my parents about You-Know-Who," she said, turning to Ron. "They might want to come over to talk with your parents about it, if you think that'll be okay."

"They won't mind," Ron said, shrugging. "Dad'll probably go mental asking your parents all sorts of questions."

Hermione chuckled at the image, though the laughter died out quickly as she turned her attention back to Harry.

"Take care, Harry."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on a form just barely visible through the large moving crowd. Above the heads of the King's Cross patrons, Harry saw the large rotund face of his uncle. He'd expected barely controlled disgust or rage, as was the norm, but instead, as they locked eyes across the station, his uncle began to smile.

"Bye," Harry whispered to his friends, before taking a step that felt like a first step onto gallows ground. His blood turned to ice in his veins as he approached his oddly jovial uncle. He stopped in front of his relatives, swallowing thickly as he looked up at his uncle. The friendly smile stopped just short of genuine, his beady eyes burning with suppressed rage.

"Welcome back," Vernon said, the overly friendly tone almost masking the sharp steel underneath. "Ready to leave?"

"Yes, sir."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The city outside the car window was loud and alive, but the feeling couldn't penetrate the small panes of glass, leaving Harry feeling lonely and anxious in the silence of the car. He swallowed, trying to force down the nauseous feeling inside him. In previous years, the car ride home had been filled with derisive comments about his kind, and the school he went to, followed by an impossible list of tasks to complete as soon as they arrived back at Privet Drive. After his escape to the world cup, Harry had been expecting an explosion of rage as soon as they were in the pseudo privacy of the family car, not the tense silence he'd been met with. His uncle didn't speak until they'd returned to Privet Drive. His gruff voice stopped Harry's foot mid stride as he turned to go up the stairs to his room.

"Not up there, boy," his uncle said, dropping a meaty hand hard on Harry's shoulder, and roughly pushing him around the banister. "Back to where you belong."

Harry moved mechanically towards the small cupboard door. The years seemed to have shrunk the already small door. He felt a cold sweat break out on his skin as he opened the cupboard door and peered inside. He'd never quite gotten over his fear of small cramped spaces after being under the stairs for so many years. The spartan upstairs bedroom had been a dream come true, despite its lack of furnishings.

"Not going to be sneaking out of _there_ , are you?" Uncle Vernon growled from behind him, causing Harry to flinch before he slowly turned around. He shook his head, trying not to meet his uncle's angry gaze.

He staggered, the back of his head bouncing against the door to the cupboard as his uncle's open hand made contact with his forehead.

"Did you spend the whole year at that freak-school lollygagging and learning your party tricks? How else could you possibly forget that proper decent people say "Yes, sir,"and "No, sir"?!"

Harry forced his back straight despite the ringing in his ears.

"No, sir."

His uncle turned away, grumbling under his breath, apparently deciding correcting him was no longer worth the energy. Harry pulled open the cupboard door, and hefted his large trunk into the small space. He set the old threadbare blanket and small pillow atop the trunk, making a mental note to do laundry at his first opportunity. His old bedding clearly hadn't been touched since he had been allowed to sleep in his own room. He shut the cupboard door quickly as a loud "boy!" floated to him from the other room. He tried to shake the residual disorientation from his head as he walked, a bizarre sense of normalcy settling over him. He frowned as he tried to quickly examine the thought. It wasn't as though he enjoyed being tossed around, but the strange nearly friendly version of his uncle had been exceedingly unnerving, and he felt a sense of relief that things were back to the way he had been expecting them.

The sense of relief was quickly replaced by the familiar numb focus of his servitude as the days turned into weeks. He'd quickly discovered the retribution for his escape the previous summer in the form of a much more attentive Uncle. Instead of being left well enough alone to get his chores done, his uncle would loom over him as he worked, a long switch held in one hand.

"We were trying to be lenient with you, and let you figure out how to act properly without getting too heavy handed," said Uncle Vernon.

Harry had to hold back a noise of incredulity, though the angry welts beneath his shirt made it much easier to do so.

"But every year you come back more deviant and a bigger freak than before. "

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur paced her room, the warm sunlight streaming through her window illuminating her desk, and the obnoxiously empty piece of parchment. First it'd been deciding how long to wait before sending the first letter, then, even after figuring that a week was enough, the question became 'what?' instead of 'when?' She'd tried making a list of things she wanted to ask him, of details she wanted clarified, but every single one had started with Voldemort, and Harry's yearly adventures. She'd written three drafts of the first, each one incinerated after just a few lines. She sank into her desk chair and placed her hands on her head.

It'd been nice coming home, despite the zeal with which her mother seemed to check on her. The first day she'd barely been allowed to use the toilets on her own, especially after recounting the horrors of watching Harry be tortured by the resurrected Dark Lord, then suffering beneath his wand as well. She shuddered, and did her best to push those thoughts away. A few nights without nightmares had been welcome, and she had no desire to resume the night terrors. Fleur sighed, and picked up her quill. She knew what she really wanted from their letters. She just had to be sure she didn't push too hard. Harry was a private person, but he _had_ opened up about his second year.

And it'd be nice to know he was okay.

 _Harry,_

 _Hello! I've spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out what to put in this letter, and I have come up with very little. I didn't want our very first letter to be about everything that happened, but I can think of little else._

 _I also would like to get to know you better. I realized that I'd done a lot of talking about myself, and not much listening in our time together, and I am sorry for that. We didn't even talk much after the Yule Ball, though I do realize that is my own fault._

 _I'm excited for your reply, even though I realize I have not sent you anything of much substance._

 _-Fleur_

Fleur reread her letter, and tossed it back atop the desk in knew the real reason why she was fretting over what to write. She stared out the large window at the expansive wooded area outside, and allowed the thoughts she'd been studiously avoiding to surface. What if he was afraid of her, or repulsed? She'd been so ashamed to see the Veela at the world cup transform so unabashedly, further pushing the perspective that Veela were less than human. She wasn't sure if she could handle it if her friend now thought she was some monster, or a freak.

She burned the parchment in front of her with a quick touch of her finger, and pulled another from her rapidly dwindling pile. She'd wanted to start the letters off slow, and friendly, and savor the thought of having a friend to write with. But she also couldn't stand the thought of being unauthentic with Harry. She'd already kept a big secret from him, one that had nearly ended their fledgling friendship, and was determined to be truthful whenever possible. She inked her quill, and set it to the parchment.

 _Harry,_

 _I've written half a dozen drafts of this letter, and each time I got so wrapped up in my own head that I had to start over. I wanted to write you a normal letter, one that told you about how nice it is to be back home, and how happy Gabrielle is to see me. I wanted to ask you what you liked to do over the summer, and what you thought your next year at Hogwarts will be like. But no matter what I wrote, or how I wrote it, it just didn't seem right. I am sorry to start our summer conversations in such a way, but I do not think I can do it any other way._

 _There are a few things that have been weighing on my mind since that night. How was it that you were necessary for Voldemort's resurrection? That Death Eater said 'Blood of my enemy.' Why couldn't they have used someone else? I'm sure Voldemort made plenty of enemies._

 _And how are you feeling? Sometimes when I dream of what happened I can still feel the aches from that curse. I feel as though I likely got off easy though, since the Cruciatus is fueled by hate, and I doubt I was anything more than an inconvenience to him. I_ _ **do**_ _hope you're doing well._

 _I also wanted to ask you what you thought when you saw my other form._

Fleur paused her writing, setting down her shaking quill, trying to quell her nerves. She frowned angrily at herself as she looked at her trembling hand. She could discuss Voldemort's resurrection and the effects of the Cruciatus, but asking about a part of herself is what caused anxiety? She grabbed the quill, and determinedly set back to writing.

 _I know you saw the Veela transformation at the World Cup, but I am sure it is a little different from the top of a stadium to fighting with one. I hope I did not scare or worry you while changed. We can be single-minded in our avian forms, and it can get in the way._

 _I look forward to your reply, and will answer whatever questions I am able, especially considering the deluge I have given you._

 _All the best,_

 _Fleur_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry mechanically gathered the mail from its resting place below the mail slot, the poor sleep and extra bruises he'd been getting sapping any energy he had left. An oddly shaped letter caught his eye amongst the usual magazines and bills, and the familiar writing on the front made his spirits soar. He quickly slid the letter in his pocket before returning from the entry hall, and slid it under the door to his cupboard. He made a mental note to grab a torch from one of the utility closets before his uncle returned form work. His Aunt didn't keep nearly the watchful eye on him that her husband did, instead preferring to treat him as the hired help, to be summoned and dismissed as needed. He supposed he should feel bad about being treated as a stranger in his own home, but he certainly preferred it to his Uncle's vicious alternative. Though his aunt could be even worse when riled into a fit, and was even worse for being unpredictable. He'd never been able to crack what it was that set her off, no matter how he'd tried over the years. It often happened when he was just looking at her, waiting for more instructions. He toiled through the rest of the day, quickly preparing the Dursley's dinner as soon as his Uncle arrived home.

Harry waited for Dudley to return to bed after his midnight meal before he turned on the light, and opened the letter. He felt a smile pull at his mouth as he read, a sharp pain from a split lip briefly dragging him back to reality. He hadn't really been sure what to expect from her letters, but found himself unsurprised at its contents. He reread the letter, savoring the tether to what felt like his other life. One where he was tolerated, and treated largely with kindness, rather than the cruelty of his past few weeks He pulled out the pen and paper he'd pocketed, and set to writing, the small torch laying next to him on the trunk.

 _Fleur,_

 _I was glad to get your letter! It's been a bit of a boring summer so far, and it was a nice thing to look forward to._

 _I can't really blame you for wanting to talk about what happened, though I_ _ **would**_ _like to hear what your house in France is like, and how your sister and family are doing._

 _I can sort of answer your questions, but I don't know much more than you do._

 _I don't know why Voldemort needed me. Maybe because I'm the one who 'killed' him the first time?_

 _As for how I'm feeling, I'm doing okay. I still dream about it sometimes too._

Harry chewed on his pen thoughtfully, and shook his head, opting to leave out the fact that it wasn't _his_ Cruciatus that featured in his nightmares.

 _I wasn't joking about your transformation. It was pretty cool. I'm a little jealous that you have another form. It's kind of like being an animagus. You did seem a little single-minded, but like I said, you still seemed like you._

 _The blue fire was really neat too._

 _What are you going to be doing now that you're done with school? Your Dad is an ambassador, right? Will you be doing something like that?_

 _Talk to you soon,_

 _Harry_

Harry quickly folded the letter, and slid it into the envelope he'd grabbed during his supply gathering. He wrote her address on the front, and sealed it closed. He decided to do some of his outdoor chores in the morning, and slip the letter into the mail while outside. His most recent injuries from his uncle were healed enough that his aunt would let him out front where he could be seen. A sense of excitement build in him as he tried to fall asleep, the thrill of breaking the rules keeping him awake. He'd certainly been paying for his disappearance the previous summer, but it still somehow felt good to defy the Dursleys, even in such a minor way.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur rushed down the large staircase, grinning excitedly. The muggle post hadn't taken as long as she'd expected, and she was excited to read Harry's reply. Her mother handed over the letter, a smile on her face.

"I'm glad you two are still talking," Apolline said as Fleur grabbed the letter. "If you can, see if you can get a definite answer from him about Christmas."

"I'll try, Maman," Fleur replied, trying her best not to sprint back to her room.

She flopped down on her bed, and tore open the letter with one finger. She paused, trepidation suddenly overtaking her. His thoughts about her other form likely rested inside the small ripped envelope. He'd been kind about it during their time in the hospital wing, but what if he'd changed his mind as he'd thought about it? After being forced to participate in Voldemort's resurrection, she expected the revelation of her avian form paled in comparison, but after some time to think about it…

She yanked the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. She would get nowhere worrying about it when the answers were sitting in front of her. A smile grew on her face as she read. She let out a sigh of relief as she finished the letter, her fears abated. She supposed she hadn't thought he was like some of the students at Beauxbatons, who had run in fear when she'd had some of her early uncontrolled transformations.

She pulled out a piece of parchment, and quickly began her next letter, having thought almost non-stop of what she wanted to write next.

 _Harry,_

 _First things first, I told my mother I would ask you to Christmas again. I know you weren't able to give an answer before, but I can't say I blame you considering what we'd just gone through. We'd be happy to have you, though if you have other plans, that is okay as well. What sort of gifts do you like? I'd like to get you one whether you can come or not!_

 _In a few weeks I'll be working with my father from time to time at the Ministry as an intern. My goal is to become an enforcement officer for the ICW, and working within a Ministry outside of my own country is a good start. I expect I will be filing a lot of paperwork and running between departments at first, but it's a necessary first step. Is there anything you have planned for after Hogwarts?_

 _I appreciate what you have said about my transformation. It is usually our other forms that cause some to consider us less-than-human. You have given me no reason to think you would react in that way, but the fear was still there that I'd lose my friend because of it._

 _That was a little embarrassing to write, but it is the truth, so I will leave it. I've told you most everything else about Veela, and now you have even seen our transformation up close. This certainly is not what I would have expected when I first noticed your resistance at the world cup._

 _Was there anything else you had questions about? I will answer them as best I can._

 _As for the "normal" things, Gabrielle is doing well. She was not pleased when she didn't get the opportunity to meet you properly after the second task. She's glad to be away from school. I'm sure you remember what that was like. I know_ _ **I**_ _do. Our house is, well, rather large. I know that sounds conceited, but my father has been with the ICW for years, and an ambassador on top of that for most of that time. The Minister had kindly allowed us the use of the Ambassador's Manor for the entirety of my father's employment. I'm quite used to living here, so I'm unsure what would stand out about the house._

 _The views are very pretty almost year round. The fall is especially beautiful. The winter would be stunning with the frost on the trees, were it not so cold._

 _We have a small lake for swimming, though I have not been able to bring myself to swim yet, despite the fact that my feet can touch the bottom at almost every spot._

 _I hope you're having a wonderful summer!_

 _Best,_

 _Fleur_

 _XxXxXxXxXxXxX_

Harry clung to Fleur's envelope tightly, not willing to let go of his anchor to the magical world. He'd been able to think of little else in the weeks since he'd sent his reply. Speculation about what she'd write back was the only thing carrying him through the increasingly difficult week. He winced as a deep breath sent a piercing pain deep into his side, the massive purple bruise a constant reminder of the cost of his distracted state. He pulled out his now crumpled paper, and began to write.

 _Fleur,_

 _I'd be happy to come over for Christmas. I normally stay at the castle, so it shouldn't be an issue. You don't have to get me anything, after all, you're the one inviting me into your home. I_ _ **would**_ _like to get you and your family something though. Any ideas?_

 _Since you asked, I was wondering one other thing about Veela. You've already told me so much, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to._

 _The Sphinx called you 'little fey' and you didn't seem to argue. I was just wondering why._

 _I don't know what I'll be doing after Hogwarts, if anything at all. Voldemort seemed set on proving he was stronger than me for some reason, and given my track record, I expect I'll have to deal with him again._

 _Working for the ICW seems like a hard career. Any special reason you want to join?_

 _-Harry_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur read and reread Harry's letter, the beginnings of angry tears forming in her eyes.

"If anything at all…" she whispered, trying to wrap her mind around his odd words.

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, and tried to calm down. Maybe she'd misunderstood his meaning. How else could he have been so cavalier about being murdered by Voldemort, then follow up with a question about her chosen career path. She sat down at her desk and gingerly picked up her quill. A sense of import settled on her shoulders as she prepared to write. She felt a few pieces of a vaguely Harry-shaped puzzle begin to fall into place. The slow purposeful scratching of her quill filled the room as she began to write.

 _Harry,_

 _I will let my parents know to expect you for Christmas. I'll be looking forward to it! You will also need to get used to the idea of getting a gift. My parents have already begun speculating on what to get you. I expect both my parents will like whatever you get them. Father likes practical gifts, and Mother enjoys sentimental ones. Gabrielle, at this point, would probably prefer your autograph most of all._

 _I'm joking of course. I know how much you would hate that. She has a sweet tooth, much like myself, and would enjoy some chocolate. Considering how much you have done for me, you truly do not have to get me anything._

 _For your questions, I was the victim of an attempted kidnapping once, and the person who rescued me was a member of the ICW. Ever since I've wanted to join and help others as I was helped._

 _Yes, the Sphinx did say 'little fey', and I expect it was because I had just transformed back to my human form. We are descended from fairies. Vila to be exact. When we are transformed, we call on our old blood. That is also the reason we are so single minded, as fey are usually unable to hold onto more than one emotion at a time._

Fleur bit her lip, the quill hovering over the parchment. Her sense of self-preservation screamed at her not to dig too deeply into her friend's private life. Her mouth went dry at the thought of being shut out again, possibly permanently. She steeled herself, and resumed writing.

 _There was something about your letter I was concerned about, and I wanted to clarify something._

 _You said you weren't sure if you'd be able to do anything at all after Hogwarts. I am unsure how to phrase this, so I apologize in advance for my bluntness._

 _Do you not think you will survive to finish Hogwarts? You are more capable than most of your peers, and you are in a school watched over by Albus Dumbledore. I admit, the thought of something happening to you is upsetting. If anything does come after you again, I'll do my best to help you, just as I was by your side in the graveyard. Though I will endeavor to be more useful._

 _Take care,_

 _Fleur_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry scrubbed the faded linoleum, the harsh chemicals stinging his cracked dry fingers. The sudden house-wide deep clean had been rough on his already worn hands, the bleach he had to use slowly eating away at his skin while he worked with it. He was nearly finished though, and would have been done sooner had he not begun bleeding on all the clean surfaces a few days prior. The blood stains, in turn, been cause for another vicious 'lesson' he had to clean up later. He gave a small smile as another drop of blood fell from his split lip onto the floor. He wasn't exactly sure why it brought him joy to bleed on the Dursley's things, especially considering he had to clean it up before it was seen. But it did, and he scrubbed it away the same as he'd done countless times before.

He ignored the pain of his injuries as he put away the cleaning supplies, the Dursleys having long since gone to bed. He staggered into the cupboard, and closed the small door behind him. He gingerly opened Fleur's letter, careful to get as little blood on the parchment as possible. He unfolded the letter and began to read, hoping he'd be able to remember what he'd written.

By the end of the letter, he was frowning. He hadn't meant to worry her, it had just seemed like the natural conclusion to draw. How would he be able to do anything meaningful when faced with a resurrected Voldemort? He'd almost been done in by mere shade of the dark wizard.

He wrapped his cracked hand in his blanket to keep blood from the page, and began to pen his reply.

 _Fleur,_

 _I'm sorry if I worried you. I just haven't thought much about life outside of Hogwarts, and with Voldemort out there, it seems even further away. If he came back from the dead once before, what's to stop him again? I doubt we'd get so lucky as for another Avada Kedavra to backfire on him._

 _You are right though, Dumbledore is there, and they say he was the only one Voldemort was afraid of the first time._

Harry paused, thinking hard about what he wanted to say. He didn't want to embarass himself, but he also needed to let her know what he was thinking.

 _It means a lot that you'd come help me. Not many would. Hermione would, Ron too, and I wouldn't want any of you hurt on my account._

 _Truth is, it's not Voldemort torturing_ _ **me**_ _that I have nightmares about._

 _If it were to protect any of you, I'd want to stand in the way of anything. It doesn't really matter if I get hurt, so long as you're all okay._

He smiled, then quickly wiped at his lip as he felt the split open up again. It wasn't often that he was able to express his thoughts so clearly. She'd understand now. He wasn't the important one, _they_ were.

 _It's even cooler that you're part-fairy. I suppose that's where your other abilities come from too? I've always thought the idea of transforming was really interesting ever since I found out my dad and godfather were both animagus._

He frowned as he continued, the taste of blood in his mouth a reminder of the reason for his delay.

 _I'm sorry this one was a little late. I was a little busy with some extra chores._

 _-Harry_

He carefully unwrapped his hand, and gingerly folded the letter into the envelope. He wet his tongue, and sealed it closed. He stared at his hand as he finished. The Dursley's wouldn't allow him outside in his current state, though they would begin to lay off as the yard work began to pile up. He slid the letter under his small pillow as he curled up on top of his trunk, his knees banging against the hard walls of the cupboard.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur sat on her bed, unopened letter in hand. She'd grown anxious as the days wore on without reply from Harry. The first few extra days she'd tried to convince herself the muggle post had been delayed. As almost an extra week passed by without reply, she'd begun worrying that she'd overstepped into his personal life, and he'd shut her out. Then, as she was beginning to accept the truth, his letter had arrived. Somewhat creased and worse for wear, but it came.

She ran a finger delicately under the seal, opening the envelope. She paused as she pulled the letter out, and held the back of the envelope up to the light. She grimaced, a twinge of pity for Harry forming inside her. A small smear of dried blood lay across the adhesive strip, having turned brown with time. A papercut on your tongue or lips must be a nightmare. She pulled out the letter, and incinerated the envelope between two fingers.

Her eyes sped across the page, her heart hammering in her chest. Relief grew in her at first, and was quickly replaced by more concern. She hadn't pushed too hard, and he'd even seemed to open up a little, but something in the way he spoke put her on edge. She re-read the letter, trying to ignore the warm feeling she got at the end of the letter when he effortlessly quelled her fears about revealing her fey heritage. She finally set the letter down, having located the source of her concern.

She threw herself backward onto her bed, arms splayed out to either side atop the large blankets. Her brow creased in concentration as she tried to think of a good way to address her concerns. His odd protective streak certainly fit with what he'd told her of the Chamber of Secrets, and the way he'd basically thrown himself into the basilisk's mouth to land a killing blow. Yet he still attributed it to luck. She rose, and slumped into her desk chair, pulling out her quill and parchment. She wasn't quite sure how she'd address it, but she knew the way he talked about his own wellbeing and potential death did not sit well.

 _Harry,_

 _I am truly glad my origins do not bother you. As I said before, you are very earnest, and I appreciate it._

 _I am unsure how to say this next part, and I apologize if it comes off as blunt, or rude. That is not my intention._

 _You seem almost sure that Voldemort will come for you, or that you won't make it through your school days. You talk of standing in front of everyone so they don't get hurt, like you did in the chamber, but I don't want_ _ **you**_ _to be hurt either. The idea of my friend dying does not sit well with me, nor does his lack of concern for his own torture. What we suffered was horrific._

 _I can't speak for your other friends, as I don't know them well yet, but I will do whatever I can to help. No matter what._

 _On the subject of gifts, both Christmas and otherwise, I realized that I do not know what day is your birthday. Mine is October 24th._

 _Again, please take care of yourself._

 _Your friend,_

 _Fleur_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry stared at the letter on the ground, the bulky envelope and familiar script calling his name. He knew he should pick it up, that he _needed_ to pick up the mail, otherwise-

"Boy!" his uncle bellowed from the other room. "I thought we'd finally gotten rid of your lazy attitude!"

Harry bent slowly, taking care not to exacerbate his broken arm. The trip to the hospital had been a quick one, though the doctor hadn't seemed to believe the 'falling down the stairs' excuse. _That_ had cost Harry dearly.

He wasn't sure exactly _how_ to please the Dursleys anymore. Before, he could work hard to stay out of sight and out of the way, and he'd be left mostly alone, unless a nasty fancy took his uncle. Even Dudley used to tire of tormenting him, but it was all different now. Even his aunt, who usually left the discipline to his uncle, had joined in with hot pans and her own thinner belts.

He slid Fleur's letter under the door to the hall closet as he gathered the rest of the mail, resigning himself to the trouble he'd gotten himself into. At least they'd probably avoid his arm. Wouldn't want to have to spend even more money on a new cast.

That night saw Harry sitting in his cupboard, staring at the letter he'd been waiting so desperately for. He wanted to open it. Or rather, knew he _should_ want to open it. He found he could do nothing more than stare at the letter, a thick heavy weight keeping his arms from moving, keeping his hands from reaching out. He stared at the bulky envelope until the small torch's batteries finally sputtered and died, dousing him in a familiar darkness.

Maybe tomorrow.

He let his eyes close, and the walls slowly began to close in on him. He suffered through the panic, careful not to let a single whimper escape him. Eventually, sweaty and exhausted, a fitful sleep overtook him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur sat, legs stretched out across the sill of her favorite window, a new book in hand as a summer rain drummed on the glass beside her. Her eyes flew across the page, reading the words for what was sure to have been the hundredth time. She closed the book with a huff of frustration, finally admitting defeat.

It'd been much longer between letters than before, and Fleur could barely get a moment alone with her thoughts without wondering what was taking him so damn _long._ If he was mad at her for her rebuke, he could have at least let her know. It was immature and childish to simply give her the silent treatment.

"Fleur!" Her mother's voice rang out from the floor below, the slightly excited tone spurring her quickly down the stairs. As she turned the corner to the entryway, she saw a small white envelope clutched in her mother's hand above a smug smile. "I told you he would write back. There was no need to get yourself all worked up."

Fleur snatched the letter from her mother's hand and raced back upstairs, the burning desire to read the reply pushing her up the stairs two at a time, and away from her mother's admonishments. She pulled open the envelope as soon as she entered her room, shutting the door in Gabrielle's bewildered face. She pulled out the letter, and was caught short by the strange scrawl across the page. She sat down on the edge of her bed, and read.

 _Fleur,_

 _Sorry about the bad handwriting. I hurt my arm. It's a good thing I have passable off-hand writing huh? Lots of practice._

 _My birthday is July 31st. Just passed. You don't have to get me anything, it's not important._

Fleur cursed under her breath, resolving to send him a package regardless once the new Hogwarts term started.

 _Sorry this letter is so late. I was pretty busy. My relatives have me doing a lot around the house._

 _For your other stuff. I bet Hermione would probably say the same things, but I don't know if we can agree. You are all so important to me, and I can't stand the idea of something happening to you if I can help it. Besides, even if Voldemort does catch up to me, I really should have died back when I was a baby, so I guess it's like borrowed time. Can't complain about that. Finally put an end to all the Boy-Who-Lived rubbish. Either way, it doesn't matter._

 _Sorry, but I just couldn't put my life over yours like that._

 _-Harry_

Fleur slowly lowered the letter, and set it next to her on the bed. She stared out her large window as she considered Harry's letter, to find it sat with her even worse than his previous one. No matter how she'd tried, she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was not-quite-right with the way he put his thoughts down in his letter, and the newest one had only served to solidify her fears. In their time together he'd been pensive, shy, and occasionally awkward, when he wasn't saving her life, but he'd never been macabre.

She sat at her desk, a drying inkwell sitting next to a piece of empty parchment in front of her. She sat, her eyes clouded to match the grey day outside as she tried to piece together the partial puzzle in her head. Something was wrong. But what?

"Fleur? Dinner!" her mother called from down the stairs, jerking her from her thoughts to the realization that she'd been called multiple times.

"Coming!" she shouted back, trying her best to mask her pensive mood. She didn't want to have to answer questions about something she didn't quite have a handle on yet. She hurried down the stairs to the dining room, and took a seat at her usual spot. She smiled at her father, who hadn't had many opportunities to eat at home that summer, his work at the British Ministry keeping him far too busy.

"Is everything okay, Dandelion?" her father asked, offering her a small comforting smile.

"Everything is fine," she said, returning what she hoped was a passable smile of her own.

"Sweetheart," her mother cut in. "You know you're a terrible liar. You've been upset for weeks now, and now that you've got your letter, something is still clearly bothering you."

Gabrielle giggled from her seat next to Fleur, and stuck her tongue out at Fleur's answering glare.

"I'm not even sure _what_ it is," Fleur answered, turning back to her parents.

"Is it about Harry?" her mother asked, a picture of disinterested nonchalance.

Rather than be annoyed, Fleur could only nod, her frustration at the situation far outweighing any irritation at her mother.

"Well, we will help in any way we can," her father said. "We do owe that young man a great deal. Is there anything you can tell us, anything that wasn't shared in confidence? You two did go through quite the ordeal together."

Fleur sighed, pushing her food around on her plate as she thought.

"It's nothing he told me really. Something just seems wrong, but I can't put my finger on it. The way he talks is different, though not fully out of his character as I know him." She frowned, her mind jumping around as she tried to piece together her thoughts. Her parents waited, attentive and patient, while Gabrielle simply ate quietly, sensing the mood.

"This letter was different," she continued slowly, "in a couple ways. He hurt his arm, and had to write with his left…" she trailed off, feeling the newest puzzle piece click slowly into place.

"Yes?" her mother asked, worry creeping into her tone. Her father turned, and shared a look with her mother before they both shifted their somber attention back to Fleur.

"He said he'd had lots of practice writing with his other hand, and that he couldn't write because his relatives had given him a lot to do around the house," she frowned again, growing frustrated. "It doesn't seem like that would be too big a problem, but something still feels wrong."

"Did he say how he hurt his arm?" her mother asked evenly.

Fleur shook her head.

"Then the only thing you can really do, if something is indeed wrong, is to make sure he knows he's safe to tell you anything. Your friendship has been far from normal since the very beginning, and I don't doubt you've grown closer than most would have in the time you've known each other."

Fleur nodded absently, and stood. She walked slowly out of the room, a pensive look across her features.

"Gabrielle," Apolline said, turning to the younger girl, who was staring after her sister. "Why don't you see if Fleur would play a game with you. We'll clean up here. She seems like she could use a little fun, don't you?"

She nodded happily, and padded after her older sister.

Apolline let her mask of motherly calm slip as soon as Gabrielle turned the corner.

"Sebastian-"

"I know."

 **AN: This chapter straight up would not exist without Apple. The original outline and timeline did not have it looking anything similar to this, and I think the chapter as it stands is far better than the one I'd originally planned.**

 **This chapter had some pretty dark stuff in it, that's why the trigger warning. I didn't detail each and every blow because though that was the original plan, I found it distasteful. Abuse like this, less extreme than this, and more extreme than this happens. If you're in a position like that, there are some resources at your disposal. If for some reason you can't google a hotline, or search a website, send me a pm, and I'll find you one and send it to you. FF doesn't like links, or I'd just post em.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Another trigger warning y'all**

It had been a long and terrible summer for Harry Potter. It wasn't that long terrible summers were uncommon for him, but this one had been especially long, and especially terrible.

He'd slept little in the days since he'd received Fleur's reply. His arm had hindered his effectiveness as a tool for the Dursleys, and they'd taken notice. Over the years he'd learned what set his relatives off, and endeavored to do such things as little as possible. However, this summer seemed to be a whole new set of rules, and he'd not been able to get his feet under himself to figure out what it was they wanted.

One such rule he'd learned very quickly was the new expectation of agreement. He'd known for a long time about his uncle's penchant for "yes sir," and "no, sir", but he'd paid dearly for not anticipating their new expectations. Just a few days into the summer vacation, he discovered the new requirement beneath a belt. He'd not agreed with his aunt's assessment of wizards, and his own worthless ineptitude, and he'd not forgotten the lesson since. At first he'd thought the new rule was just weird, and was simply happy he wasn't getting struck instead. As the summer wore on, he found that while his cuts and bruises faded, even if they were replaced by new ones, the words only grew more bitter in his mouth as he was forced to speak them.

There'd been allowed no room for sluggishness. He'd been expected to agree instantly with whatever demeaning epithet they chose, their favorite being "worthless." Although he continued to rankle at the slurs and accusations of wizardkind, Harry was horrified to find himself slowly agreeing with their assessments of him.

He _was_ a burden, especially to his friends, who kept being dragged into life and death situations merely by being near to him. He _was_ worthless, the only thing of worth he'd ever done was something he had no control over. Voldemort had been "killed" that night not by him, but by luck.

He couldn't control the words anymore. No matter how much it hurt, his mouth automatically replied affirmative to their insults and curses.

As he woke from another fitful sleep, he stared at the angled ceiling in the darkness, allowing silent tears to course down his face. He'd gotten used to the Voldemort nightmares over the years, though the more recent ones that featured Fleur being tortured still had him thrashing as he woke up. The newest one always left him shaken, and deeply disturbed. He remembered the dream, clear as day, and it was always the same.

Voldemort had managed to find his way to Privet Drive, to finish what he'd started fourteen years ago. The Dursleys welcomed the Dark Lord, and escorted him to the cupboard. They opened the door, exposing a battered and bloody Harry.

He remembered the way Voldemort's sinister smile and raised wand sent relief coursing through his body. He remembered the begging, "Please," that he always uttered before Voldemort spoke, and the green light pushed him from the dream.

He wiped his eyes with his unhurt hand, and grabbed the torch laying nearby. He knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep, and knew Fleur would be waiting on a reply. He opened the letter with one hand, and was surprised to find multiple pieces of parchment inside.

 _Harry,_

 _Much like my first letter, I have written a dozen drafts of this one in an effort to find the right words to convey what I am trying to say. I feel like every letter I've sent you has had an apology of some sort for things I have said, or did not know how to say without being rude. I have been afraid that I have been too pushy. I will once again need to ask your forgiveness for my bluntness, but I feel it necessary._

 _I think that something is wrong, and I am here for you. I do not know what it is, but I wanted you to know that you could come to me if you need to._

 _There are things about you that I do not understand, and things about you that I know I do not know yet. Your other encounters with Voldemort are one such example._

 _I want to understand though._

 _This all feels weird and embarrassing to say, but I still feel the need to say it._

 _I know you do not like to talk about yourself, but you can talk to me, if you want. I am not going to run, or laugh, or change my opinion of you, if that is what you are afraid of. Your actions this past year have been far more telling of the kind of person you are than whatever secrets you are keeping._

 _I do think you are keeping secrets, and that is okay. Your business is your business. I just want to help if I can._

 _I want to tell you something about myself. I do not tell you this so you will feel compelled to reciprocate, but because I trust you._

 _I mentioned my reasons for wanting to become a member of the ICW. What I did not mention was that it was not an attempted kidnapping, it was a successful one._

 _I've said before that there are those who see Veela as less-than-human. My second year at Beauxbatons, there was an incident because of the biased and deplorable views of one of my instructors. At the time, my abilities had not yet manifested themselves. I was simply a little girl with silver hair. A full grown Veela has little to fear from the people around her. When our abilities cannot sway an individual, and our magical prowess is lacking, our avian form can finish whatever they have started. Young Veela have none of these defenses from those looking to sell them into slavery._

 _This instructor was approached by one who had discovered that our class to take an educational trip to the Louvre. They had arranged for me to be 'lost' in the crowd. The teacher would lead a search party in the wrong direction, while the trafficker took me from the building, and sold me away, with the teacher getting a portion of the profit._

 _The trafficker was able to apparate me away to where they held their kidnapped girls. He locked me in a cage and put shackles of pure iron around my ankles._

Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he read, forcing him to set the letter down to collect himself. His hand shook as he wiped it across his face. He'd never have known someone so determined and full of life had been through something so harrowing. He jerkily picked up the parchment, and resumed reading.

 _I was beyond fortunate, however, that shortly after my arrival to that awful place, the ICW conducted a raid on the operation, captured the people working there, and freed us._

 _That is the reason I cannot abide authority figures standing by while those in their care are hurt, as in your case with the tournament. It is also the reason I reacted so rashly to seeing the hostages tied up at the bottom of the lake. I cannot stand seeing people bound so they are unable to move._

 _That is why I want to join the ICW. So I can make the same kind of difference in someone's life as they did for me back then._

 _As I said, I do not tell you this so you will reciprocate. Only to show you that I trust you. I can tell that you are a person who prefers action to words, and even though these are only words on a page, I hope they are effective in conveying my message._

 _If I am out of line, or completely wrong, please let me know. I would rather have said something, and be wrong, than to not have said something when you needed me._

 _Always your friend,_

 _Fleur_

His mind whirled as he slowly set the letter down, the magnitude of what he'd just read slowly settling inside him. He felt the sorrow and anger at what she'd endured, but he felt one thing burning above all the rest. She _knew_. She didn't know what, but she knew something was wrong. He awaited the usual tidal wave of shame and anxiety that usually followed the idea of someone discovering his deepest secret. It never came, a feeling of exhaustion and loathing taking its place instead.

He picked the letter back up, and scanned it. He felt his heart give an almighty thump as he reread her comforting words.

 _I am not going to run, or laugh, or change my opinion of you._

He desperately read the line over and over, wishing it, willing it to be true. His mind felt like it was revolving inside his head, fighting against itself. Hadn't she faithfully stood by him throughout the whole tournament? Hadn't she been the first to believe he'd not put his name in the goblet? Had she not already proved her words to be true?

He felt the wave of fear roil up and counter his thoughts. Hadn't she kept the fact that she could sense him a secret? How could he trust her words now? Was he even worth her concern?

The thoughts fell apart before they could grab hold. He was surprised to find he trusted her. He'd enjoyed his time with his new friend, but hadn't realized how close he felt to her.

He tentatively picked up one of his last pieces of paper, swallowed back the lump of trepidation in his throat, and began to write.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Apolline glanced across the large front room to where Fleur paced in front of their entry door, as she had done for the past week.

"What do we do?" she bemoaned, turning to her husband. They sat together on their favorite loveseat, making sure they were nearby should Fleur need them.

"There's nothing we _can_ do," Sebastian replied. "Not yet anyway. We only have our assumptions to go on, and that's not enough to launch an investigation into the muggle world."

"Why in the hell not?" Appoline fumed.

"I know, _ma cherie_ ," he said, squeezing her around the shoulders with one arm. "But we've been over this. We need some sort of concrete evidence, especially when it's the Boy-Who-Lived. And doubly so now that Dumbledore has begun his campaign to prove that Voldemort has returned, and Harry is at the center of that."

Apolline huffed, and turned her attention back to Fleur.

"She's so torn up about this," she said quietly, leaning into Sebastian. "He means a lot to her already."

"He means a lot to _me_ ," her husband answered thickly. "You know what could have happened without him."

Apolline patted his leg gently. "Calm down there. It's okay. She's okay. I know you're feeling powerless right now. I am too."

"I thought I was the one trying to calm you down."

"Yes, well, despite our years together I still have a distinct advantage on helping you manage your feelings," Apolline said, turning to him with a smile.

Sebastian smiled back, before letting his face fall into a mask of calm.

"There's no need for that," Apolline laughed, poking her husband playfully in the side. "You don't need to use occlumency against _me_."

Before Sebastian could reply, a horrified gasp from Fleur grabbed their attention.

"Fleur?" Apolline said, her playful tone replaced with fierce concern.

Their daughter turned to them, furious tears coursing their way down her cheeks as the edges of the white paper began to smoulder.

"He-" she choked out, before pressing her lips together to suppress the angry sob. She held the paper out for them to read as they stepped closer. "He needs our help."

Apolline grabbed the paper, and held it so her husband could read over her shoulder.

 _Fleur,_

 _I also have written this letter a few times and this is my last piece of paper, so I suppose this'll have to be it._

 _I know what you mean about finding the right words now. I tried a bunch of different ways, and it just didn't work, so here it goes, I guess._

 _When I'm here for the summer, they hurt me to discipline me. I know it's not normal, and I've been trying to figure out what I do to deserve it. They're the reason my arm is broken, and why this letter is so messy too. Sorry._

 _You're the first person I've ever told. I've always been afraid to tell people, cause I didn't want them to treat me differently. I just wanted to be normal. But you said you wouldn't run, or change your opinion, so there it is. I guess._

 _The summer is almost over, and I'll be able to go back to Hogwarts. I only have to endure two more years, and then I'll be of age, and can live somewhere else._

 _Thanks for trusting me with your story. I trust you too._

 _-Harry_

Apolline felt her own fiery anger boil to the surface.

" _Sebastian_ ," she growled, low and angry.

"Let's get to work."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry sat atop his trunk, eating his quick breakfast before starting on the morning's chores. He wiped his hands on his pants as he finished, glad to have finally regained some mobility in his injured arm. It sometimes gave a twinge of pain if he put too much weight on it, but it was far better than it had been before, even if it was still in a cast. He shuffled slowly out of the cupboard, doing his best to ensure his shirt moved as little as possible against the angry welts on his back. He tried to keep his spirits up, and remind himself that it was only a few weeks before he was free for another term from their torment, but every time he tried, he was reminded that Fleur had yet to reply to his admission. He cursed himself yet again, instead choosing to move quickly as he slid off the trunk, allowing his back to scrape against the hard edge. He hissed between his teeth as he stood, the burning sensation slowly fading. He hurried to the kitchen, the morning's dishes waiting for him in a sink of scalding hot water he'd drawn before eating. He picked a plate out of the bottom of the sink, and began to scrub.

A sharp rap on the door startled him badly, causing him to drop the plate on the floor. It shattered on impact, piecing flying across the spotless linoleum.

"You'll pay for that later, you worthless freak." his uncle growled as he passed the kitchen on the way to the door.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed immediately.

"Yes, what?" Uncle Vernon asked, stepping closer. His voice low and deadly.

"Yes, sir. I am a worthless freak."

"Get upstairs before someone decent sees you." His Uncle shoved him roughly towards the stairs, and he barely caught his footing as he used the momentum to climb the steps two at a time. His uncle had made it clear very early on that Harry was not to be seen or heard by "decent folk" unless absolutely necessary. He quietly closed the door to the bathroom, and laid down on the cool tile floor. He could feel the bass rumble of his uncle's deep voice through the floor as he spoke to the visitor. He couldn't make out the words, but he could hear the visitor speaking as well.

As though a bomb had gone off, he heard his uncle's voice reverberate through the house as he began to shout.

"Get out!" he roared, his angry shout as loud as if he'd been standing outside the bathroom door. Harry sat up, his heart jackhammering in his chest. No matter who it was that had riled his uncle up, it always meant trouble for him. He froze when he heard a loud, but much more restrained voice call out.

"Harry?"

He froze, the bellows of his uncle covering anything else the stranger might have said. Slowly, Harry opened the bathroom door, and crept down the hall, stopping at the top of the stairs. Harry froze in shock as he looked down at the scene in front of him. Standing passively just inside the open door, was Fleur's father. He wore a grey suit, with a hat tucked under one arm. He stared impassively at a purpling Vernon Dursley.

"We've done as you _demanded_ ," his uncle shouted. "We let him go to your school for freaks and monsters like him, and in exchange you were supposed to _leave us bloody well alone_!"

"Indeed," Sebastian said cooly, his eyes darting quickly over to where Petunia cowered behind her massive husband. "Things have changed. Where is Harry?"

"Here, sir," Harry answered from the top of the stairs. Sebastian turned to look at him, his passive expression slowly slipping into one of anger, causing Harry to take a reflexive step back. Mr. Delacour winced, and turned his anger back towards its source.

"Harry will be leaving with me. I doubt you have any objection," he said, his normally firm but comforting voice sharp and frigid.

Harry's legs almost gave way as he processed what he'd heard. Another shortened summer with the Dursleys? He almost couldn't believe his luck. He really hadn't wanted to be seen in such a state, but if it meant less time at Privet Drive, he'd do almost anything. Even if it made next summer as bad as this one, he'd take the risk. He wasn't sure he could stand one more day.

"Good riddance," his uncle said, waving one large hand in dismissal. "He's your problem for the year."

"You appear injured, Harry," Sebastian said loudly, his icy gaze never leaving the Dursleys.

"You know what hooligans his age are like. Get into all sorts of trouble and expect you to fix 'em up every time," his uncle said, the venom in his voice barely controlled. "Part of his freakish nature I would expect. Decent people don't act like he does."

"Indeed," Sebastian said quietly, before turning to face Harry. "Come on down, unless you don't want to come. It is _your_ choice after all."

Harry scrambled down the stairs as fast as his legs would take him.

"I'll come!"

"Where are your things?"

"In the cupboard under the stairs," Harry answered, pointing around the banister. His uncle grumbled as Sebastian pushed past the large man, and ushered Petunia into the living room, muttering about 'entitled degenerates' as they left.

Sebastian pulled open the small door, exposing the small space that held Harry's trunk, and his small threadbare blanket and pillow. He felt his face flush as Fleur's father temporarily froze. Harry saw Sebastian's hand twitch towards the front of his suit jacket before he took a deep breath, and let his hand fall back to his side.

"Is this everything, Harry?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Hedwig flies around during the summer. She'll catch up whenever I leave."

"That's a smart owl you've got," Sebastian remarked as he reached into the cupboard to touch Harry's large trunk. "Hold on to me, we'll be apparating from here."

Harry quickly grabbed onto the offered hand, and instantly felt the painful squeeze of apparition. He was quite suddenly outside, the bright noonday sun warming his face. He let out a sigh of relief. He was free for another year.

"Welcome to my home," Sebastian said, waving an arm to encompass a large, picturesque manor on the hillside above them. The stone house was surrounded by lush green trees, and had a large, crystal clear lake sitting at the base of the small hill. Harry goggled at the massive house.

Sebastian chuckled. "Yes, the ambassador's manor is quite a sight, is it not?"

Harry could only nod in reply.

"You'll get a proper tour once we are inside. Normally we'd apparate inside, but the first time you have to either come by floo, or be escorted through the wards," Sebastian explained as he levitated Harry's trunk with a flip of his wand, now extracted from his jacket pocket.

They walked up the long stone path in silence for a time, Harry's gaze flitting around the beautiful countryside. Occasionally, he'd glance over to to Mr. Delacour, to find the older man smiling at him. He felt his ears redden each time, and resumed admiring the scenery.

"I have no doubt you are expecting the question," Sebastian said, startling Harry, "but how are you doing?"

"Fine, sir," Harry replied automatically

"Fine?" Sebastian repeated, stopping Harry with a light touch on the shoulder.

Harry flinched away from the touch, cursing himself as he did so.

"I thought not," Sebastain said with a sigh, dropping his hand and taking a step back.

Harry felt his face flush as he looked down at the stone path beneath his feet.

"She told you?"

"I hope that's okay," Sebastian said, his voice soft and sincere.

Harry nodded slowly.

"I trust her." He looked up at Fleur's father, an odd pained expression on his face. "I didn't tell her just so you'd come get me away for the rest of the summer," he said, an almost pleading tone in his voice.

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise.

"The rest of the-" he cut off, and raked a hand through his thick hair. "Harry, you're never going back to that vile place."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur peered through the curtains at the two figures far in the distance, and let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm going to go meet them," she announced, striding towards the door.

"Fleur!" her mother said sharply, halting her progress with a firm hand on the shoulder. "We talked about this. There is a lot happening all at once for him. Too much will not be well received."

"But he's hurt, why wouldn't we bring him inside as quick as we possibly could?"

"It's not just his body that's hurt, my dear," her mother said sadly, squeezing Fleur's shoulder once before letting her hand fall. "And there are things your father needs to discuss with him that are his business alone. He needs to be able to make informed decisions for himself. He also needs us to be calm and collected. He's come from a place of non-stop tension and fear, and it will take him time to come down from that."

Fleur let out an angry noise from her throat, and tried not to stomp her way back to the window.

"He's grown to mean quite a lot to you," Apolline teased, hoping to get a small rise from her daughter.

"Yes," Fleur answered simply, resuming her post by the window.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"I-I.." Harry trailed off, trying to comprehend Sebastian's words. He'd been casually handed his deepest desire while standing in the middle of a beautiful French vista.

Sebastian stood patiently allowing Harry to collect himself. He gestured to the small half-wall that ran alongside the path, and sat down, a still shocked Harry following suit.

"Where do I stay?" Harry asked. "I'd always imagined it...but now…"

"You can stay here until term starts if you'd like. After that, it's somewhat up to you," Sebastian said, drumming his heel against the stone wall. "I understand you've spent time with the Weasleys in the past, and they could be a potential option. That is something we will have to revisit in the coming weeks as things progress."

"I don't want to be a burden to them," Harry said quietly. "Or to you either."

"You will always be welcome here Harry," Sebastian said. "You won't be a burden. And I expect you wouldn't be one to the Weasley's either."

"But, sir. I-"

Sebastian slowly held up one hand to interrupt, and tried his best not to react when Harry flinched back.

"In time, I hope you'll be able to take my word for it," Sebastian said, lowering his hand. "And I want you to please listen carefully."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"I _will not_ strike you. Nor will Apolline. You are safe here."

"I know, sir," Harry mumbled, feeling his face flush with shame.

"Even so, I wanted you to hear it. Are you okay staying with us for the rest of the summer?"

Harry nodded quickly.

"Then let's get up to the house. I expect Apolline and Fleur are anxiously awaiting our arrival."

"How did this all happen, sir?" Harry asked, as they resumed walking, disbelief still thick in his voice.

"Well, there's a lot to it, but I would say the process started in earnest with Fleur. She's the one who brought concerns to our attention."

Harry nodded, trying to fight the embarrassment flooding through him.

"After that there were a few legal aspects to retrieving you. Especially considering we were planning on bringing you to France."

"Why would that matter, sir?"

Sebastian smiled at Harry. "You can call me Sabastian, if you would like, or Mr. Delacour. There's no need for 'sir,' if you don't want to."

"Okay...Mr. Delacour," Harry said slowly.

"To your question, Harry, you _are_ a person of interest to the British Ministry, especially now that Dumbledore has begun his campaign to force the ministry to recognize the return of Voldemort. We couldn't make it seem like we were secreting you out of the country, and had to go through the proper channels. We thought that it should be up to you, as much as possible anyway, who knew about what happened to you. Since we already knew, and you are friends with our daughter, it was determined that coming to France would be acceptable so long as you returned to Hogwarts on time. From there we can deal with your residency situation.

"But we can get into that later. We are here, and I expect the girls will want to welcome you as well. Once you're inside, I'll run to the apothecary to pick up some potions to finish healing your arm and the like. After that, we'll get you settled in, and it'll be time for dinner. Sound good?"

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on the large wooden door ahead of him. A flicker of movement caught the edge of his vision, and he saw the curtains at the nearest window flutter shut. Seconds later the door flung open to expose Fleur, her face both relieved and furious. He smiled at her and waved. She took a purposeful step forward, before seeming to hesitate, her eyes travelling down to his cast.

Gabrielle had no such hesitancy. The small girl rushed through the door and around her sister, engulfing Harry in a hug. Her head impacted the edge of a particularly nasty bruise on his side, almost causing him to double over. He managed to keep from groaning as he awkwardly patted Fleur's sister on the shoulder.

"Alright," Sebasitan cut in, removing Gabrielle from Harry. "There's no reason to forget our manners. Inside with you."

Gabrielle pouted, but did as she was told, stepping back around Fleur as she reentered the house.

Sebastian turned to Harry. "I'll be back momentarily," he said before turning on the spot, and disapparated.

Fleur stepped forward, none of the fury or relief having left her features. She took another step forward, raising her arms partway before dropping them back to her sides. Harry thought he heard her let out an angry sigh before speaking.

"I am glad you are here," she said fiercely, her bright blue eyes locked on his own. They again glanced down to his cast, and she raised a hand to slowly point at his side, where Gabrielle's head had hit his bruise. "You are hurt there?"

Harry nodded.

"Come in," Fleur said, turning. "I want to ask you all sorts of things, but that can wait. Most of all I want to make sure you are okay. So come inside, and we'll wait for Papa to return with the potions."

Harry followed Fleur through the front door, and marveled at the ornate entry hall. Just inside, at an opening to what seemed to be a large sitting room, stood Apolline and Gabrielle. Harry's eyes were wide as he stared into the large home. Further ahead, he could even see a grand set of stairs leading up to another floor.

"I told you it was big," Fleur said, her ears turning red as she did so. "I can give you a tour later, if you'd like?"

Harry nodded, returning his gaze back to her.

"Welcome to our home, Harry,"Apolline said, smiling. "Fleur will show you to your room while we wait for Sebastian to return." She glanced behind Harry to where his trunk floated slowly through the open doorway. "Please make yourself at home. We are very glad to have you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Apolline, or Mrs. Delacour will do fine, if you don't mind," Fleur's mother said gently. "I'm sure it will take some getting used to, so no rush."

Harry nodded, and followed Fleur out of the entryway. He was shocked to find the entry hall opened up into a large open room, with easily as much floor space as the entirety of the Dursleys house.

"The ambassador is occasionally required to host various balls and parties for various foreign officials," Fleur explained, noticing Harry's shock. "They normally aren't _too_ bad, though I do usually spend the evening avoiding the families of the visitors, who haven't had the same training as the people in government."

"Training?" Harry asked as they turned down a long hall, grateful for the somewhat normal topic. He almost stopped walking in surprise as the simple hallway somehow managed to be as elegant as the ballroom below. A thick, pristine red carpet ran the length of the hall. The walls were decorated with various magical paintings, whose oil-brushed figures moved and danced through their scenes.

"Occlumency, remember?" asked Fleur, her voice pulling Harry from his observations.

He nodded, recalling one of their first conversations.

"Government officials of a certain level all have to have at least some level of Occlumency training. We would not want important high-level secrets to be pulled from their minds, would we?"

Harry shook his head, and suppressed a shudder. The more he heard about Legilimency, the less he liked the idea.

"Here is your room," Fleur said, stopping suddenly. "Shall we go in?"

The room beyond the door froze him to the spot. He stood, hand still on the doorknob, marvelling at the massive room ahead of him.

His eyes were drawn to the bed first. It was the largest bed he'd ever laid eyes on. He always missed his small but comfortable bed at Hogwarts when he was at the Dursleys, and even more so this summer. He was sure he could lay down in almost any direction, and still be completely on the massive bed. Directly across from him, sticking out of the wall was a large window, taller than he was. It jutted out from the wall, and had a large sill covered in cushions. The sunlight shone through the cracks around thick curtains that covered all three sections of the giant window, the shafts of light illuminating the desk and armoire that sat on the wall opposite the bed, both apparently made of the same dark wood as accented the rest of the house.

"Is everything okay?" Fleur asked tentatively from behind him, again startling him out of his amazement.

"Er, yeah," he said, feeling his face grow warm. "I never seen...it's amazing," he mumbled, dropping his hand from the doorknob and stepping inside.

"I am...glad you like it," she said, following him in. "I can-"

"Harry, Fleur!" Sebastian called from the end of the hall. "I see you've found your room, excellent!"

Fleur stuck her head out of the door to find her father walking quickly towards Harry's room, his arms full with potions of all colors and sizes.

"Better to be prepared," he said as he approached the doorway, noticing her wide-eyed shock. "If you would excuse us, Orchid?"

Fleur's gaze darted back to Harry who was still admiring the massive room. She turned to her father, her eyes pleading to remain nearby. He slowly shook his head, nodding down at the potions in his arm. She cast one last look at Harry, before striding angrily across the hall.

"Harry," she called, making him jump and spin around to face her. "My room is right here, if you need me."

He nodded, his eyes shifting from her to the potions in her father's arms.

Her door closed with a soft click, and Sebastian followed suit, closing Harry's door with a foot after Harry's trunk floated through, landing gently next to the bed. He deposited the plethora of potions onto the desk, and opened the curtains with a quick wave of his wand, bathing the room in bright afternoon sunlight.

"I got a little of everything," he explained, turning to face Harry. "I don't really know what injuries you have, and I figured it would be better to be prepared."

"You didn't have to get all of that for me, sir...Mr. Delacour," Harry said, his eyes wide. "I'll be fine."

"Harry," Sebastian said firmly, causing Harry to involuntarily straighten his back. "Before we get started, we need to talk about something very important."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, trying to swallow back his sudden anxiety.

"It's nothing you've done," Sebastian said gently, "but it is serious. As with any situation where a minor must be removed from their family home due to mistreatment, there will be a hearing to determine that your removal is indeed necessary for your safety. One of the strongest pieces of evidence we will have is your injuries."

Harry looked up the man, puzzled. "So I have to stay hurt?" he asked. "If it'll keep me away from there, that's fine with me, Mr. Delacour."

"Goodness no, Harry," Sebastian said quickly. "I'll get to the point. My memories can be used as evidence, as someone who will have seen the results of the abuse firsthand. I just wanted to get your permission to use these memories before we started, since it will be more effective if we have as much information as possible…" he trailed off, allowing Harry to digest his words.

"So, you need to see everything, sir?" Harry asked after a moment's thought.

Sebastian nodded before speaking. "We would have you submit your memories, if you were comfortable with that, but most traumatic memories are difficult to view. Not merely because of the subject matter, but usually because the person involved tries to disassociate in order to deal with what is happening, and can make the memory jumbled, and unclear."

Harry nodded slowly, suddenly aware of every scrape and bruise on his body.

"Whatever it takes, sir," he said, his fear of showing his shame overshadowed by his desire to be free of his relatives for good.

"So I have your permission?" Sebastian asked, his eyes locked on Harry's.

"Yes, sir."

Sebastian smiled gently at him. "Thank you. If you don't mind, please remove your shirt," he said, turning to the desk. "I know we will need a bone restorative for that arm, and a nutrient booster." He grabbed two of the vials, and turned back around, pausing in shock at the sight in front of him.

Harry stood, pale and trembling in front of him, dark purple bruises dotting his chest, with one large angry one on his side, just above his hip. A number of mottled burn scars covered his unbroken forearm, and Sebastian could see the ends of bright red welts wrapping over the tops of his shoulders.

"Would you mind turning around, Harry?" Sebastian asked, as calm as he could manage. He desperately wanted to call upon his Occlumency training to block out the horror, but he wouldn't compromise the memory in such a way. Harry deserved better than that.

Harry nodded stiffly, and shuffled around on the spot, exposing his back, covered in thick angry lashes, some still scabbed over.

"Is there anything else?" Sebastian asked quietly as Harry turned back around, his eyes locked on a point at Sebastian's feet.

"No, sir," he said quietly. "They left my legs alone usually. It'd make me too slow otherwise."

"Thank you, Harry." Sebastian said, offering the two potions to him. "These will heal your bones, and boost your nutrient intake, giving your body some extra energy after eating, since your body will be tired from all the healing you're about to do. I'll grab some restoratives to take care of your back, that way you can put your shirt back on without the pain, and some subcutaneous restorative for the bruises."

Harry drank down each potion quickly, revelling in the odd sensations he'd come to associate with potion based healing during his time under Madam Pomfrey's care. Sebastian gathered the remaining potions as Harry finished the last one, and turned to leave.

"There are some clothes for you in the armoire if you would like," Sebastian said. "There are both robes and muggle clothes in there. They've got the standard tailoring spells on them, so they're guaranteed to fit. You can wear your own clothes of course should you choose, it's simply an option."

"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled, tugging his too large hand-me-down back over his head.

"Apolline and I will be downstairs should you need us. Fleur is across the hall as well. We will call you for dinner, but until then, take all the time you need."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur gently closed her bedroom door behind her, and drew her wand, casting a silencing charm around the perimeter of the room as quickly as she could. She could feel her anger burning inside her, it's energy begging to be let out. She grit her teeth, forcing her arm steady as she cast the last charm. She dropped her wand, and let out a furious shriek as she loosed her hold on the churning fire within. She felt her hair whipping behind her and angry tears coursed down her face as the intense heat escaped, rolling across the enchanted furniture, their protective spells glowing as they activated. She could feel her avian side pushing to the surface, so tantalizingly close, mixing in with the pulsing fury. It called to her in its single mindedness, in its simplicity.

 _Protect._

A gentle knock at her door snapped her away from the avian's calls, the wave of heat settling as she whirled around. She bent and picked up her wand before opening the door. She felt a wave of cool air rush across her body as she opened the door to her mother, who stood patiently outside.

"I thought as much," Apolline said, her hair buffeted by the rush of warm air leaving Fleur's room. "I can't say I'm surprised," she added, stepping around Fleur and into the room. Fleur closed the door behind her, and recast the silencing charm for good measure.

"You are understandably upset," Apolline said, her tone infuriatingly calm.

"Upset?" Fleur asked, her voice far less under control than she'd thought. "Of course I'm upset! They hurt him so badly...you saw him! Hurt him so badly I can't even hug him to comfort him, because he's afraid of it!"

"They did," her mother agreed, sitting slowly on the edge of Fleur's bed.

"I just want to-"

"I know what you _want_ to do," Apolline cut in. "Because _I_ want to as well, but we cannot. It _must_ be up to Harry how we proceed from here."

"I know," Fleur said, some of her anger abating. She sat down on the bed next to her mother with a sigh. "It's just so difficult...you saw him."

"I did," her mother said distantly. "I saw. All we can do now is what you've already done. Make this a safe place for him to open up. He might not, and even if he does, it'll be quite a while before he's better."

Apolline turned to her daughter, a hesitant look on her normally purposeful features. She laid a gentle hand on Fleur's shoulder. "He faces a very difficult path to heal from this, and it could be quite challenging to be his friend at times. He will likely close off from others as he tries to examine his feelings, but you can't take it personally. He's going to have a rough road ahead, and will need you to go along with him to help him through it."

Fleur nodded, "We'll do it together."

 **A/N: And 14 chapters in, he's finally free. Physically anyway.**

 **A lot of people pm'd me, most expressing a desire for huge retribution for the Dursleys. Fire, brimstone, the works. Will they get their comeuppance? Yes they will. I'm sure you were hoping to see it this chapter though, but you'll have to wait. Will it be fire and brimstone? No. It won't. Sorry. This isn't a wish-fulfillment fic, and won't suddenly turn into one.**

 **I don't mind answering questions if you have any via pm, but y'know...be cool.**

 **As always, hope you enjoyed! I know this has been a long awaited event.**


	15. Chapter 15

The first week of freedom passed strangely for Harry. Though he was beyond grateful to the Delacours for saving him from his relatives, he wasn't nearly as at peace as he'd expected to be. And it was making him angry.

He'd slept little so far, alternating between insomnia while he ruminated on his anger, and nightmares that he'd been sent back to the Dursleys after the Delacours had discovered he really _was_ worthless. No matter the restless sleep, or long nights spent awake, he infinitely preferred doing it in France with his friend and her family, than to sleepless nights cramped tight atop his trunk.

He had taken Mr. Delacour's offer of new clothes a few days into his stay after Fleur insisted he wore clothes that fit for a walk through the woods. He had already known Fleur could be stubborn, but it hadn't taken him long to discover which tone brooked precisely no argument. His second day with the Delacours, he discovered upon leaving his room that she had no intention of leaving his side if at all possible.

After the third day, he tried to offer his help to clean the home as well, only to be told that most things in the house were enchanted to clean themselves. If he wasn't busy with his hands, he was left alone to his thoughts.

And he hated it.

The one thing that had been able to calm him down had been Fleur's propensity for getting out of the house, and taking him with her. He had known she hadn't been comfortable in the cold Scottish winter that he'd met her in, and though she had been glad once the warm weather at Hogwarts once it had finally come, she clearly appreciated being back home during the height of summer. It clearly suited her. More than once he'd turned away red faced as he realized he'd been staring, mesmerized by her as she walked a few paces ahead of him through the woods.

As the sunny week passed, Harry found himself enjoying the outdoors more and more. He'd been surprised to find himself looking forward to Fleur's excursions as the days went on, and the light it injected into his mind. Despite its expansive halls and high ceilings, the ambassador's manor began to feel oppressive the more time he spent idle within.

On their third outing to the woods, she strode ahead, her bare feet deftly avoiding sticks as roots as her hair bounced off the back of her thighs, tied back in a ponytail by the ribbon she'd found fitting to her mood for the day. The occasional burst of sunlight through the thick canopy would catch her hair, causing the light to diffuse and sparkle around her. He smiled as she hummed a tune as she walked through the woods, the air alight around her. Fairy ancestry indeed.

Their walks had been mostly silent, though Harry could tell Fleur was still often brimming with questions. Their most visited destination was a small clearing deep within the woodlands, which held some moss covered stones laying sporadically across the clearing, a few large enough to sit on. Fleur often preferred to jump from stone to stone, rather than sit, something that amused Harry greatly. He'd never have expected the beautiful aloof girl he'd first seen at the world cup to be hopping across rocks around him just over a year later.

He smiled at the thought, before it was pulled from his face as his thoughts ran away with him. The night he'd met her, the death eaters had attacked. Barty Crouch Junior had tortured people with _his_ wand. Had he killed that Veela with it too?

Harry shuddered, a chill rolling down his body as his mind sprinted down it's chosen path. Despite the sun, the warmth, and his friend so close nearby, he felt the cold loneliness close in on his chest, a deep new fear that it was all temporary came bubbling up to the surface no matter how hard he tried to push it down. He could hear his Uncle's voice taunting him, shouting at him, repeating the word that he felt burn deeper than any wound that had been inflicted on his body. He was worthless. He didn't deserve this luxury, or Fleur's trust and friendship, or anybody's friendship for that matter. Maybe he did deserve as little as his relatives thought he did.

"Fleur?"

His own quiet voice made him jump, startling him from his thoughts, and clearly startling Fleur as well, who missed her next jump, and landed awkwardly next to the stone on one leg.

She turned to him, a smile dying on her lips as she took in the frantic look in Harry's eyes. She quickly sat down next to him, her heart thundering in her ears. She'd almost expected him to never talk about anything that had happened, but she'd at least wanted to provide him the opportunity should he need it.

"Yes?"

"I keep…" he began, his eyes roaming anywhere besides her direction. "I keep having these..thoughts, or something. Even though I'm here, with you, and not...there...sometimes I just suddenly start thinking about all of it, for no reason. I'll hear him saying I'm worthless, and not good enough, no matter how hard I try. I have nightmares every night about him, and for a few seconds after I wake up it feels like I'm waking up hurt and in my cupboard. Everything is so _good_ here, there's no reason for me to be thinking these things."

He finally settled his gaze on her, his green eyes wet above a frustrated frown.

" _What's wrong with me?"_

Fleur's answer was lost as a wave of sense washed over her. As they had done once before, she felt her abilities find purchase within Harry. She felt them prod his mind to turn his attention towards her, and she felt them fail.

And she felt immense fear.

Her abilities poked and prodded at his mind in ways that she couldn't decypher, but she could clearly sense how afraid he was at his admission as though he'd spoken the words himself. As she frantically tried to understand what she was feeling from him, she finally registered the sight in front of her as well. Tears began to leak from his eyes, his sense shifting to shame as he buried his face in his hands. Fleur wanted to leap from where she sat, to cross the small gap between them and hug him, to let him know he wasn't alone, but she knew her mother had been right in their discussions, it wouldn't be right to force contact on him, especially after what he'd just shared. He seemed as if the smallest breeze through the trees would shatter him to pieces after laying himself bare before her.

She searched frantically for a reply of sufficient magnitude. Before she could come up with anything of substance, she felt her sense of him begin to flicker, a guttering flame attempting to stay alive. He was pulling away from her, she had to say _something_.

"It's them," she said, her voice desperate and hard. "They are the monsters. Not you."

"But why-"

"There is no "but," Harry," she interrupted gently. "Mother said it would be difficult for you to adjust. She said that is just how it is for people in your situation. You've lived a lifetime with those horrible people. One week outside of that nightmare isn't enough time to heal. A broken bone doesn't heal in a day."

"So I'm...broken?" he asked. The naked fear in his eyes broke her heart.

"No," Fleur said, fighting to keep calm against the onslaught of hopelessness she felt emanating from him. "You are only injured. You can get better."

"How?" he asked miserably, dropping his eyes down to the grass.

"I...I do not know," she replied. "But there are people who do. And I will help you if I can, if you want me to." She smiled as he looked up. She had to swallow thickly as she felt the significant impact of her words.

"You're not...disgusted, or anything? By all of this?" he asked.

"Anybody who is truly is not worth your time," she answered confidently.

Harry shook his head and wiped his eyes. Fleur bit her lip, not wanting to push him away in his vulnerable state, but a promise was a promise.

"Harry?" She said, trying to ignore the sudden fear pulsing out from him. "I made you a promise." She swallowed as his eyes found hers, curiosity mingling with his extreme anxiety. "I can sense you again. It has not gone away like last time."

She sighed, and braced herself for the loss, but it never came. Rather than her connection being closed, she only felt the small beginnings of embarrassment in him.

"I...I see," he said, running a hand anxiously through his hair. "What uh...what do you feel...from me?"

Fleur tried to give him a comforting smile as she spoke. "There is no reason to be embarrassed," she said, rather than address his prevailing feeling of anxiety. "I will _never_ use your emotions against you. Please trust me."

Harry nodded slowly, the embarrassment slowly fading.

"I do," he said quietly. "I just wish I wasn't so all over the place," he added.

Fleur smiled at him in understanding.

"I understand, but you cannot control every little thing you feel. To expect you to do so is asking the impossible."

Harry smiled briefly up at her before looking down at his hands.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I feel a bit better."

"I can tell," she replied, offering him a smile of her own to soften the blow. He looked up at her, startled, before she saw the realization set in.

"That'll take some getting used to," he mumbled.

"Are you okay with it?" she asked. She was privately glad that their situations were not reversed lest he sense the butterflies in her stomach. "I know you did not like the idea. I am sure we could find somewhere else for you to stay, if you would prefer."

She was astounded by the almost instant sense of panic and urgency she felt from him.

"No!" he almost shouted, before forcibly settling himself. "I really like it here. It's fun at the Weasley's, but it's busy, and loud. The calm here suits me better, I think."

She felt a sudden wave of embarrassment from him, though he didn't say anything more.

"I am glad," Fleur replied, offering a nervous smile. She remembered her foolish obsession with the 'why' of Harry's immunity, and the odd event at the Yule Ball. She did her best to push the thoughts away. She could talk to her mother about it later, if she remembered. For the time being, she was just glad her abilities hadn't pushed someone so important to her away.

They sat in silence for a time, while Fleur turned her focus to the new sensation of Harry's emotions. He hadn't been wrong, it seemed. He _was_ a little 'all over the place,' but she doubted it was as bad as he thought it was. She could hardly blame him for feeling a little scatterbrained after the whirlwind that had been his summer, or rather, his whole life. She turned to look at him, his gaze focused on some point off in the distance as he thought about whatever it was that was causing him such disquiet. She could see the squinting of his eyes behind his glasses, and the slightly pursed lips that told her he was still upset, even without her abilities confirming her guess. She stared at him, a small sense of triumph building inside her. He'd been so difficult to read in the beginning, especially without the sense that she'd come to depend on so heavily. Though, she doubted he was as open with anybody else, especially considering he'd flat out told her she and her family were the only ones who knew about his home life. Her eyes widened. Even his two oldest friends didn't know.

"Harry?" she asked, startling him. He turned to face her as the sun broke through some cloud cover. She saw his eyes shift up to her hair, as they often did, and she felt a sense of wonder from him that rendered her temporarily speechless. His eyes focused back down to her own.

"Yes?" He asked after she was unable to recover her thoughts.

"Oh! I had a question. A serious one, if that is okay," Fleur said, reluctant to break the positive turn to his mood.

"Okay," he answered slowly.

"Do your friends know anything about...all of this?" She asked, gesturing vaguely around them. "About...what happened?"

She both watched and felt him deflate beneath her question.

"No," he answered quietly. She could see the weight of his guilt settle on his slumped shoulders. "They don't know. I never really wanted _anybody_ to know, but especially not them. I don't know why."

"Then why did you tell me?" Fleur asked.

"I don't know really," he answered with a shrug and a sideways glance. "It was just so much worse this summer. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't do _something_. I couldn't take it anymore…" he trailed off, and she felt his mood grow dark, and heavy.

"What is it?" she prodded gently.

"I actually tried to take it back," he admitted, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. "When I saw the postman pull the letter from the postbox, I panicked. I ran out the front door to grab it from him, but my Uncle caught me." He winced as a hand reflexively went to his now healed side. "That's where that one came from," he whispered, pointing to the spot Gabrielle's head had impacted upon his arrival.

Fleur felt her anger begin to simmer beneath the surface.

"I want to _burn_ their house to the ground," she grumbled, plucking a clump of grass from the earth and letting it incinerate in her hand.

Harry turned to look at her, startled.

"You probably shouldn't," he said after a moment, concern radiating from him in waves.

"I know," she said, dropping the ashes to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest. "Hurting them will not fix anything."

Harry shrugged.

"I don't much care what happens to them," he said, before giving her a small half-smile. "I do care what happens to you though. I don't want you getting in trouble because of me."

Fleur felt her anger calm at his words, the furious inferno replaced by a comfortable warmth.

"I have something for you," she said, suddenly remembering the project she'd worked on to distract herself while her parents worked to get approval to retrieve him.

"You do?" Harry asked, confused at the sudden switch.

"Yes," she said, rising from her seat and offering her hand to help him up. "Come on!"

Harry reached out, and took Fleur's warm hand in his, and hefted himself to his feet. She let go, the sudden absence of her touch leaving his hand momentarily cold, despite the warm summer day.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fleur led Harry into her bedroom, and closed the door behind them. He looked around at the surprisingly similar room to his own across the hall, though he could smell the faint cinnamon that he'd slowly come to associate with Fleur.

"Close your eyes," she said, her nervous excitement clearly shining through.

"Why?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"For your surprise!" Fleur said with a laugh that died as she took in Harry's continued confusion. "Oh."

She attempted to rally her excitement as her heart broke again for her friend. Had he ever had a birthday gift before?

"Well, Maman always had my close my eyes when she gave me my birthday gift, even though it was wrapped, and I could not see what was inside anyway. You do not have to play along if you are uncomfortable."

Harry nodded thoughtfully before obediently closing his eyes.

"Hold out your hands," Fleur called from across the room.

Harry stuck out his hands as instructed, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot as he waited.

"Happy birthday," Fleur said, dropping a wrapped package into Harry's waiting hands. He opened his eyes in surprise, bewilderment clear on his face and in his sense. She felt an overwhelmingly intense emotion beginning to emanate from him as he looked up to her with wide eyes.

"My birthday was in July," he said weakly, his hands still held out, the small package resting on his open palms.

"I know," Fleur replied nervously, silently cursing her tremulous voice. She'd worked so hard on it, and desperately wanted him to like it. "I was going to send it to you once you had gotten to Hogwarts, but now you are here…" she trailed off.

She felt another indescribable wave of emotion from him as he looked back down at the gift.

"Open it?" She asked, her hands automatically beginning to pull on her ribbon.

Harry reverentially moved the package to his left hand, and carefully removed the paper, uncovering a small box. At Fleur's excited gesture, he opened the lid to reveal a folded piece of fine stationery. He lifted it carefully from the box, unfolded it, and turned it around to look at the back.

"It is not just a simple piece of paper," Fleur blurted, rushing over to her desk. She opened a drawer and produced another blank paper, and pulled a quill from the inkwell on her desk. She hunched over, obscuring Harry's view as she wrote, the scratching quill filling the quiet room. A motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head back to the gift still held in his hand. Across the front, Fleur's familiar looping handwriting traced its way across the top of the paper.

 _Happy Birthday_

Harry marveled at the words for a moment, before turning back to face Fleur, who stood facing him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"What do you think?"

"It's incredible," he answered truthfully.

"You write on the other side, and it will appear on mine. Just tap it with your wand to remove the writing." She walked back over to where Harry sat on the edge of her bed, and sat down next to him.

"This is amazing," he said, his eyes wide. "Where did you get it?"

"I made it," Fleur answered, beaming. "I was introduced to charms and enchantments relatively young, and I have always found them fascinating. Once my abilities manifested, I found myself with quite a lot of time to myself. I filled some of that time with study." She smiled mischievously at him. "I was chosen as the Beauxbatons champion for a reason, you know."

"You were the Triwizard Champion for a reason," Harry replied with an answering smile.

" _We_ were the Triwizard Champions," she corrected. "We grabbed the cup together."

"We did," said Harry, feeling the playful mood fade as he recalled what followed their 'victory.'

Fleur shuddered next to him, her mind clearly following the same path his had.

"Are you okay?" he asked, surprised to hear the words he so often hated leave his lips.

Fleur nodded, smiling weakly at him.

"I am fine," she replied, trying again to offer a reassuring smile, causing his doubt to only grow stronger.

He suddenly looked away from her, a sigh escaping as he turned.

"I'm the last person that should be allowed to ask that question," he said quietly.

"I appreciate the concern," Fleur said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His head whirled to face her, and she suddenly afraid she'd frightened him with the contact...but she felt no fear, only focus. She slowly removed her hand, and placed it in her lap. "I just thought...with everything that has happened with you...that it was not that important. It is not nearly as bad as what you have had to deal with."

"It was still pretty bad," he said after a moment, "but you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. It's up to you."

Fleur was silent for a while as she considered. She felt no pity or irritation from him, only concern.

"I am still unable to swim in our lake," she said quietly as she pulled her ribbon over her shoulder. "Every time the water touches my neck, it's like I am back at the bottom of that damnable Black Lake." Her eyes widened as she felt the ghost of her own panic come from Harry, though he only nodded in reply. "I _am_ sorry you had to endure that because of me."

"I'd do it again, if you needed me to," he answered with a shrug.

She smiled at him, before turning her gaze back down to her hands, which were twirling the ends of her yellow ribbon up into small rolls.

"Do you dream about that night in the graveyard?" she asked quietly. She felt his body still, though his sense erupted in a mix of emotion too tumultuous to decypher.

"Sometimes," he admitted.

They sat in silence while Fleur tried to wrestle with her memories. She had been so exhausted after her transformation that it'd been mostly a blur, until Voldemort's wand was pointed down at Harry, his screams dispelling any trace of lethargy inside her. Then it had been her turn. She swallowed thickly, and tried to push past the memory replaying in her mind.

"I _do_ want to talk about it," she said eventually. "That was part of the reason I wanted to write you after all, but not right now. It is harder to say in person than it is to write down on paper."

Harry smiled, and lifted his paper in question.

"That is part of it, yes," Fleur explained. "I have grown accustomed to having someone to talk to, and I was not looking forward to communicating by owl once you had returned to Hogwarts. Waiting on the letters was torture, though I am sure the subjects of our discussions had something to do with that. Owls are faster, certainly, but I thought this might be a little more convenient."

"It's a good thing we're in your room, and not mine," Harry said with a smile. Hedwig, true to form, had arrived at the manor just days after Harry had. She had been well received by the Delacour family, and had taken a particular liking to Gabrielle, who had instantly fallen for the snowy owl.

"I am sure Hedwig would understand what I mean," Fleur said, smiling.

"She probably would," Harry agreed, "but then she'd probably get irritated anyway."

An awkward silence descended between them as their thoughts swiftly returned to that fateful night.

"Being under his Cruciatus was...horrible," Fleur said weakly, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry could only nod in agreement, his mind catapulted back to her dirty, tear streaked face as she writhed on the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream. He saw Voldemort's hand wave, and felt Fleur's screams pierce him deeper than even the curse could manage. Harry shook his head, trying to banish the memory.

"What _is_ that," Fleur asked quietly.

Harry turned to look at her, confused.

"Whatever you were feeling there. It felt like…" she trailed off, a concentrated frown on her face, before her eyebrows shot up in realization. "Oh! You do not have to tell me. I know I said I would not use your feelings against you, but I thought we could still talk about them. We should probably establish some rules or something. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. He was finding that Fleur's abilities didn't bother him as much as he had feared they would. "What did you have in mind?"

"I...do not know," Fleur replied nervously. "I have never done this before. You are the first resistant person I have known for any length of time."

Harry nodded, a slow realization forming as he stared at her nervous but eager face. Despite his difficulty acclimating, he wasn't sure he'd ever been as happy outside of Hogwarts as he was at the Delacour's. Not only was he enjoying his time there, but Fleur seemed to be as well. He remembered their first conversations, and how excited she'd been to talk to someone, even though she had clearly been extremely nervous. She'd been the same way the first time she'd showed him the clearing in the woods, like she was showing him a secret part of herself.

He saw Fleur tilt her head to the side, and adopt a faraway gaze that he'd already come to associate with her 'listening' to his emotions. He took another deep breath in preparation for his leap of faith.

"It's okay," he said finally. Fleur's eyes snapped up to his, widening in surprise as she focused on him. "When it's just you and me...I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Fleur asked, her voice surprisingly quiet and small.

Harry smiled, "Can't you tell?"

Fleur stared at him, her blue eyes wide in disbelief. A smile grew on her face that quickly began to tremble as tears started to spill from her eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured, throwing herself forward and enveloping him in a warm hug. He froze for a moment before he reached around and patted her on the back as she cried. He could feel the heat of her face through his shirt, and her arms around his shoulders. He felt himself relax a little as the surprise faded, though he didn't know what he should say to make her feel better.

She suddenly sat up, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I am sorry," she said tremulously.

Harry almost shivered as his skin went cold as Fleur's heat dissipated. He considered the mess of emotions he felt as she had pulled away from him. He didn't often enjoy hugs much, though his only experience had been the bear hugs of Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione's emotion fueled tackles. He certainly knew he _wanted_ to like them. He appreciated that someone would feel such affection for him. Fleur's were different though. She'd never outright hugged him before, but her touch had always been gentle, and the hug had been...cozy.

"It's okay," he said finally. "Are you alright?"

Fleur nodded, wiping the last vestiges of tears from her eyes.

"It is nothing. Do not worry about it."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, and found himself wishing he were the one with the extra senses.

"It's just…" Fleur began, before letting out a sigh. "It's all so overwhelming."

"The...feelings?" ventured Harry.

"Partially," Fleur admitted, nodding. "I am accustomed to the general feelings of many people, and ignoring the. Yours are...complex, Harry. I can understand the basics of your emotions, but many of them I have never felt from someone so close before."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, confused

"It simply means that I have not spoken at length with someone about the time we were both tortured by a dark wizard. It is no wonder your feelings are complex, it is a unique situation. I've spent a large portion of my life afraid I would never have a true connection to anyone-a friend of any sort, and yet you continue to be everything I had hoped for when I lay in bed, sure the loneliness would crush me."

Fleur stopped talking for a moment, before snapping out of her melancholy and blushing a deep crimson.

"I am apparently still not very good at moderating what I say," she mumbled, flashing a small nervous smile.

"It's still refreshing," Harry replied. "But...I know what you mean...I think." Harry shifted uncomfortably. Fleur was right, it was much harder to speak your thoughts aloud than to write them out, or have them interpreted. "I've never had someone who was a friend like you are," he blurted, feeling his own cheeks flush to match Fleur's.

Fleur grinned at him before confusion set into her features.

"What about your other friends? You have been with them your whole time at Hogwarts, yes?"

Harry winced, guilt flooding him at his admission, but it was the truth. He, Hermione, and Ron had been through harrowing ordeals together since their second month at Hogwarts, but it was somehow different with Fleur. Hermione was a good friend, and tried her best to respect his wishes for privacy, but he could never drop his guard around her. He was positive she knew that _something_ was off about his life, and knowing her, she'd never give up until she'd sussed it out.

Harry's thoughts stumbled to a halt as the thought about Ron. He'd felt somewhat estranged from his best mate since his name had flown out of that damned goblet, and he'd still not quite gotten over the speed at which Ron had assumed him to be lying. Sure he'd made all the appropriate apologies and gestures of friendship after he'd come to his senses, but Harry still wasn't quite sure _how_ he felt about Ron now.

"It's not quite the same," Harry admitted quietly. "It's hard to explain, but it's not. They're still my friends, it's just…" he trailed off, unsure how to vocalize the shift in his world that had been so massive and slow, that he'd somehow missed it happening.

Fleur had become as important to him as Ron and Hermione.

As though driven by some cruel compulsion, his mind turned back to the graveyard, where he'd been forced to watch her writhe and scream in front of him, powerless. A titanic chessboard, acromantulas, and even 'deranged murderer Sirius Black' paled in comparison to suffering at the tip of Voldemort's wand. How was it everyone he cared about was always in danger? How could he-

"Harry!" Fleur nearly shouted, both her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. "What's wrong? You felt so...afraid."

Harry tried to gather himself enough to offer a reassuring smile. The grimace he managed to produce seemed to only deepen Fleur's worried frown.

"People that I care about get hurt," Harry said, defeated. "You've seen firsthand what I mean. Now that Voldemort is back, and Dumbledore think he'll come after me again, it'll never be safe to be around me."

Fleur squeezed Harry's shoulders in reassurance before letting her hands fall to her lap.

"We have already stood up to him once," Fleur said, her tone allowing no space for argument, "and you have done so even more than that. We will only get better with practice."

Before Harry had a chance to reply, the door to Fleur's room swung open to reveal her mother.

"There you two are," she said, striding into the room. "Sebastian has come home with some news that I think you will want to hear, Harry."

"About...the hearing?" Harry asked, his stomach beginning to knot. He was dimly aware of Fleur's gaze shifting from her mother over to him. He wondered what kind of feeling she could sense from him at the moment.

"And your godfather," Apolline said, her brow creasing as she frowned. "He asked me to tell you that, though he wouldn't tell me why. He said you'd understand."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, "I'll be right there."

Apolline nodded, and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry turned to look at Fleur, and nearly jumped as he met her intense blue gaze.

"Sirius Black is my godfather," Harry explained, watching as her eyes widened in realization.

"He is who you were writing to when we first met," she said slowly. She scrunched her face in concentration. "He was the one in the graveyard too."

Harry nodded. "He's innocent. They captured the real culprit that night."

Fleur felt hope grow bright inside Harry, before it dimmed.

"Maybe he's been cleared. Dumbledore said his retrial would be near the end of summer. We'd better go find out."

Harry rose from the bed, Fleur following closely behind. He approached the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and was enveloped in another warm hug, Fleur's hair brushing against his face as she buried her own in his shoulder.

"If you ever do not want me to hug you, please just say so," she said, her voice muffled. "It helps me calm down," she continued.

He forced himself to calm, the warmth of Fleur's affinity helping to soothe his frayed nerves. He'd never learn to like them like he wanted if he didn't at least try. He wrapped his arms around her, hoping she could clearly understand his silent acceptance.

"I am glad you are here," Fleur said as they parted.

"Me too."

 **AN: A bit of calm after the storm that was the last two chapters. Hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it.**


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